


Everything's Connected

by mizdiz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizdiz/pseuds/mizdiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he's seven years old, Sirius Black has a brief encounter with a strange boy in the woods, who, in their short exchange, teaches him an important lesson about the nature of the Universe, only to then disappear without a trace. </p><p>Nine years later, Sirius, along with his two best friends, is a student away at boarding school, with a brand new transfer student as his roommmate--a foul-mouthed, astronomy nerd named Remus Lupin. </p><p>Between school, hormones, relationships, and the fact that he is keeping a (magical) secret away from everyone--Sirius' year starts to go a little off the rails. </p><p>Not to mention, there's something familiar about that Remus Lupin kid that he just can't seem to shake...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> here we go again  
> (trigger warning for mentions of child abuse)

Deep in the forest, past the giant oak tree, at the base of the Big Hill, there is a rushing river that runs to the east. 

 

Sirius Black stands, barefoot on a stone, wet moss seeping between his toes.

 

He is seven years old--”and a half!” he would be quick to add--with two baby teeth missing right in front. He knows how to write all his letters in cursive, can count to one hundred, and reads books with more chapters than pictures. He loves to play pretend.

 

Sometimes, when his mother gets cross, he pretends he is a captive--a high priced prisoner with a ransom on his life. He imagines that the tight grip of his mother’s hands about his wrists are shackles, and his locked bedroom door is his cell. He fantasizes about the day his saviors will find him--and maybe they’ll take his brother with too, if he’s nice.

 

Other times, like today, when his mother’s mood has transcended ‘cross,’ and has edged more into the territory of ‘explosive,’ Sirius will hide out in the woods, and pretend he isn’t Sirius at all.

 

Today, he is a karate master from Japan.

 

He knows all about karate. His mentor gave him a book that had photographs of men in impressive fighting stances. Sirius can point out exactly where Japan is on the map. It’s a long way from England, but he imagines he’s there now. He heard Japan has its own sea, so today, the river is playing pretend as well.

 

He puts his hands together like a prayer, and bows to an invisible foe, impressed by the way he manages not to bend his knees. With trepidation, he angles his feet at a diagonal, shoulder-width distance, placing his body in a shaky balance atop the boulder in the river.

 

He holds his arms out in front of him, his hands flexed and stiff like boards. He straightens his elbow with a quick motion, slicing his arm through the air in a solid, ‘chop!’

 

“Hi-ya!” he yells, like he’s seen them do in the films, placing a painful blow across the chest of his made-up enemy.

 

He snaps back to position, wobbling a little on the slick rock. He steadies himself with a deep breath through his nose. The breeze rustles the trees along the bank, and the fast water rushes noisily like a faucet. As he breathes, he smells the damp grass and mud, and the underlying scent of the trout.

 

He shifts his weight to his right side, and kicks out into the empty air with his left. 

 

He stumbles; nearly tumbles right off the rock. He throws out his arms to keep his balance, bringing himself back with a tremendous blush. A real karate master, he knows, can kick out his leg and suspend it in the air at waist-level. Sirius is mortified that his weak thigh muscles can hardly kick that high for even a second. He resets his stance with a newfound determination, refusing to be brought back to reality.

 

Again he leans to the right, sucks in as much air as his lungs will hold, and exhales as he kicks, using every ounce of strength he can muster.

 

For a beautiful moment, he is in perfect form, his leg outstretched, perpendicular to his body. 

 

He then loses the pose, the inertia from the kick causing him to fall backwards, faster than he can stop it.

 

Knowing that falling is now inevitable, Sirius braces himself for his unintentional swim. It’s summer, but he knows these waters always run a little cold. His feet slide off the stone, the backs of his ankles banging against it, as he splashes into the raging river.

 

The shock of the chill radiates through his tiny body, every inch of his skin aching. His elbows bump and scratch on jagged rocks, as river water goes into his mouth and up his nose. He kicks his legs and doggy-paddles his arms, trying to stay above the surface, coughing and sputtering while he tries to take in air. He reaches towards the edge, trying to find something hold onto, but the water is too quick for him. He gets carried downstream, further and further from his karate stone.

 

Somewhere down the river, Sirius gets a grip on a low hanging branch from one of the looming trees, and he holds onto it for dear life. The water whips around him as he tries pulling himself to dry land. He drags his body through the water, inadvertently running right into an undertow. 

 

The powerful current is stronger than him, and he loses his grasp on the branch, the undertow pulling him once again away from the edge. He tries to kick himself free, but his tired limbs can’t seem to break away. A panic begins welling in his belly, as it gets harder and harder for him to to stay above the surface. He swallows mouthfuls of grimy river water, choking and spitting. Sirius’ chest gets tight, his head dizzy, without enough oxygen, but just as he starts getting really and truly afraid, he feels something grab onto his shirt.

 

Unable to open his eyes with the river water rushing at his face, Sirius blindly reaches out and feels someone’s hand take his. He holds on tight, and lets himself be tugged out of the rip current, all the way back to the edge. Once there, he wastes no time lifting himself out of the water. He climbs out onto the muddy grass, and takes a moment to catch his breath.

 

“Are you okay?” comes a voice, and Sirius looks over to his rescuer for the first time. 

 

He’s a boy, about the same age as Sirius, with big, worried, green eyes, and freckles across the bridge of his nose. He shakes his head like a dog coming in from the rain, and droplets fly off his sopping wet curls. His clothes, which are already too big for him, look even more ill-fitting, hanging off his thin limbs and torso with water weight. He has an oval-shaped, multi-colored bruise under his left eye, but Sirius doesn’t think he got it jumping into the river after him--it looks old. 

 

“I think so,” Sirius says hoarsely, sitting up into a cross-legged position and taking stock of his own body. His own clothes are heavy and soaking, too, and his long hair is messy and tangled, and he knows his mother is going to have a fit about it when he gets home. He’s got tiny scratches on his arms, and the backs of his ankles sting. He examines them closer and sees a good chunk of skin has been scraped off both of them, and he lets out a hiss of pain, the wounds suddenly hurting more now that he can see them. 

 

“You hurt your achilles tendons,” says the boy, and Sirius furrows his brow.

 

“My what?” he asks, trying to ignore the stinging in his eyes as he becomes more and more aware of how much the cuts hurt. He will  _ not _ cry in front of this stranger, he vows. 

 

“That’s what the back of your ankles are called,” the boy says matter-of-factly, leaning over to see Sirius’ battle scars. “That looks like it smarts,” he adds sympathetically. 

 

“Yeah,” Sirius agrees with a grimace, touching one of his ankles gently. “Ouch.”

 

The boy regards Sirius for a moment. “Close your eyes,” he says. 

 

“Why?” asks Sirius, frowning. 

 

“I have a way to make it not hurt as much,” says the boy. “Trust me.” 

 

Sirius hesitates. “You’re not going to touch them, are you?” he asks.

 

“No, I promise--cross my heart,” says the boy, drawing an X in the air above his chest.

 

Sirius pushes his wet hair behind his ears, watching the boy suspiciously, before acquiescing and shutting his eyes.  

 

“Okay,” says the boy. “Now, in your head, picture a big, purple square.” 

 

Sirius opens an eye. “Why?” he asks skeptically.

 

“Just trust me,” the boy says. “And keep your eyes closed. You gotta picture it really, really clearly for it to work.” 

 

Sirius presses his lips together in a fine line, feeling doubtful, but closes his eye again, and pictures in his mind a big, purple square.

 

“You doing it?” asks the boy.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay, now turn it into a big, yellow triangle.”

 

Sirius doesn’t much see the point of this, but he changes the square in his imagination into a big, yellow triangle.

 

“Did it,” he says.

 

“Good. Now make it a blue circle.”

 

Sirius imagines the triangle turning into a blue circle. 

 

“Now give the circle pink polka dots.”

 

Sirius smiles a little at the absurdity of it, but he puts pink polka dots all over the circle in his head. 

 

“Now make it a brown trapezoid.”

 

Sirius frowns. “How many sides does a trapezoid have again?” he asks without opening his eyes.

 

“Um,” says the boy, laughing a little. “I don’t actually remember. Forget that one, just picture the purple square again. Then make it really small--so small you can barely see it.”

 

“Okay,” says Sirius.

 

“Now purse your lips and blow and pretend like you’re blowing the square away.”

 

Sirius giggles a little, and then sets his lips like he’s giving a kiss, and blows. In his head he sees his tiny purple square fly away. 

 

“Now open your eyes slowly,” instructs the boy, and Sirius blinks a couple times, adjusting back to the light, before looking up. “Do your ankles feel better?” the boy asks.

 

Sirius considers this. They certainly still sting, but nowhere near the amount they did a few minutes ago. He grins. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, they do. How’d you do that?” he asks in awe.

 

“My mum used to do that for me when I’d get headaches or scrape my knees,” the boy explains. “It gets your mind off of it, so you can’t think about how much it hurts.”  

 

“Neat, thanks,” says Sirius. “And thanks for, you know…” He nods towards the river. 

 

“You looked like you were drowning. I saw you fall in from the rocks over there. What were you doing?”

 

“Oh,” says Sirius, suddenly embarrassed, sure that his pretend karate battle looked very silly to an observer. “Um, I was trying to do karate.” 

 

“Oh cool,” says the boy. “I’ve never met someone who can do karate.”

 

“I’m not very good,” says Sirius with a blush. “I mean, I fell in the river.”

 

“Still,” says the boy. “I mean, it looked cool until that part, anyway.”

 

Sirius grins. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“Thanks,” says Sirius humbly, and the boy nods.

 

They look away from each other, both at a loss for what to say next. Sirius twists the hem of his shirt, squeezing some of the water out, and the boy absently pulls grass out from the ground.

 

“Did you know that karate comes from Japan?” the boy then asks, breaking the silence, and Sirius perks up, nodding.

 

“Mhm!” he says excitedly. “I know where that is on the globe and everything. It’s in Asia,” he adds, just in case this boy doesn’t know.

 

“Yep,” says the boy. “I know that too. I like learning where places are. I know all sorts of countries. I even know the capitals of some of them. Tokyo is Japan’s.” 

 

“That’s cool,” Sirius says, genuinely impressed. “I want to go to Japan, sometime, but it’s pretty far away. I’d have to fly there, and I think that would cost a lot of money. I’m sure my mum and dad could afford it, but I don’t think they’d let me go.”

 

“I’ve never been on an airplane before.”

 

“You haven’t?” says Sirius, incredulous. His family has been making trips to Italy and France every few months for as long as he can remember. “They’re really fun. Kinda scary if you’re afraid of heights, though.” 

 

“I’m not,” the boy assures him.

 

“Then you’d probably like them.”

 

The boy nods. Sirius feels sort of funny talking about airplanes and travel, because he gets the distinct impression that this boy doesn’t have very much money.

 

“I wish I could go on one,” says the boy, somewhat wistfully. “I’d like to travel somewhere new. I don’t even care where. Just anywhere but home.”

 

“You don’t want to go home?” asks Sirius, and when the boy shakes his head, he asks, “How come? Is your mum mean or something?”

 

“Oh, I don’t live with my mum,” says the boy. “Or my dad.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Well, my dad left a couple years ago. I don’t know where he went, but it made my mum really sad, and she had to go to a hospital because of it. She told me I couldn’t live with her until the doctors said her head was all better, so I have a foster dad now. He makes me call him Mr. Greyback. He’s the one who’s mean,” the boy says with a scowl.

 

“That sounds awful,” says Sirius sympathetically. “I sort of know what you mean, though. My dad is alright I guess, but my mum hates me.”

 

“Why, what does she do?” 

 

“She just gets cross about everything, and then locks me in my room, sometimes for the whole day with no supper.”

 

“Does she hit you?” the boy asks very frankly, and Sirius is taken aback.

 

“No,” he says quickly. “Or, well, I mean sometimes she or my mentors will hit my knuckles with rulers if I do something out of line, but that’s all.”

 

“Hm,” says the boy, shrugging. “Still, that’s no good. Sorry.”

 

“S’ok.” Sirius picks absently at a small cut on his elbow. “Why’d you ask that, though? Does...does Mr. Greyback hit you?”

 

The boy averts his gaze a little. “Sometimes,” he says. “More during the summer, when there’s no one around to see the bruises.” 

 

Sirius isn’t sure what to say to that. His mother yells plenty, and he’s had his fair share of nights of going to bed with an empty stomach, but no one has ever really laid hands on him. Thinking of this peculiar boy--who pictures shapes when he’s hurt, and saves strangers from drowning in the river--getting knocked about by someone who’s meant to look after him makes Sirius feel like he does on the rare occasions his mother gets mad at his little brother. He hardly knows this boy, but he has a sudden and intense desire to protect him.

 

“It’s okay, though,” the boy adds, noticing he’s made Sirius uncomfortable. “I’ll get to be with my mum again soon, I’m sure. Besides,” he adds. “It doesn’t hurt.” 

 

“What doesn’t hurt? Getting hit?” 

 

“Yeah,” says the boy. He points to the fading bruise on his cheek. “He did this, and I didn’t feel it at all.” 

 

“Looks like it hurt,” Sirius says, grimacing at the evidence of the boy’s abuse. 

 

“Yeah, I suspect it would have. Except…” the boy trails off. He looks up at Sirius with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “You wanna know a secret?” he asks.

 

“Sure,” says Sirius, sitting up a little straighter. 

 

The boy grins. He beckons for Sirius to lean forward. Sirius does, so that their foreheads are almost touching, and the boy whispers, “I know how to do magic.” 

 

Sirius sits back, crossing his arms across his chest. “I thought you were going to tell me a real secret,” he says with a flat tone, and the boy frowns.

 

“It is a real secret,” he says. “Honest.”

 

“Magic isn’t real,” says Sirius, suddenly annoyed. Sirius prides himself on his smarts, and if this boy thinks he can trick him with little kid stuff--well, it’s an insult to his intelligence, but the boy doesn’t back down. He shakes his head vehemently, saying,

 

“I mean it!” 

 

“Prove it,” Sirius says, setting his jaw, thinking he’s caught this stranger in his lie, but the boy grins.

 

“Fine,” he says. He looks around him and picks up a large leaf off the ground. He holds his hand with his palm up, and sets the leaf very gently on it. “Stay quiet for a second,” he says, staring at the leaf with such concentration that Sirius almost laughs.

 

He doesn’t, though, humoring this boy and remaining quiet. He sits in silence for nearly a whole minute. The boy doesn’t blink, his eyes fixed on the leaf as though they were stuck there. 

 

“Nothing’s happening,” Sirius says, growing bored,, but the boy quickly shushes him.

 

“Just a moment, I’ve almost got it,” he says in a strained voice. He inhales very deeply, and as he exhales, the leaf in his hand slowly begins to rise.

 

For a split second, Sirius mistakes it as the wind, but the leaf levitates in a controlled line, directly up, higher and higher, until it’s hanging in the air above both of their heads. 

 

Sirius gapes up at it, and then back at the boy, who isn’t looking at him, but is smiling smugly. The boy then breaks his eye contact with the leaf, and it drifts back towards the ground, carried a little ways away by the wind.

 

“How did you do that?” Sirius breathes, staring at the boy with a mixture of admiration and fear.

 

“I told you,” the boy says, still grinning ear-to-ear. “Magic.” 

 

Sirius falters, at a loss for words. “Are you a wizard?” he finally blurts out, and the boy just laughs.

 

“No,” he says. “Magic doesn’t work like that. There aren’t magic people and non-magic people. Everyone can do it. It’s just that most people don’t know how.”

 

“How do you know how, then?” asks Sirius, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. 

 

“My mum,” the boy says simply. “She taught me about it, a long time ago, when I was going to get sent away. She told me it was to help keep me safe.” The boy looks out to the river and sighs. “My mum explained it to me that everything in the whole universe is made out of the same stuff, and so if you concentrate really hard, you can see how everything’s connected.” 

 

“What do you mean?”

 

The boy squints like he’s thinking about how to explain it to Sirius. “I told you it doesn’t hurt when I get hit, right?” he says, turning back to face him. Sirius nods. “That’s because, if I concentrate really hard, I can see how Mr. Greyback’s hands and my body are really just the same thing. So when he hits me, it’s just like he’s hitting empty air. I don’t feel anything.

 

“It works with other things too. Like, I can touch fire, or breathe underwater if I want--that would have been handy for you,” he adds with a smirk. “Making things float like that is really hard, though, I can only do that sometimes. And it all takes a lot of practice. You can’t think about much of anything else, or else it doesn’t work.” 

 

“So anyone can do it?” Sirius asks.

 

“Yeah, but most people don’t believe that they can, so they never try. My mum said that the older you get, the harder it is to learn how to do it.”

 

“So...so could I do it?” Sirius asks, and the boy smiles kindly at him.

 

“Anyone can,” he reiterates. “But it’s not easy. You have to focus more than you’ve ever focused on anything before. I wasn’t able to do it until this one day when Mr. Greyback got really upset, and was trying to hurt me more than usual. I was trying to think about something other than him hitting me, so I focused on everything being connected like my mum used to say, and eventually, I stopped feeling any pain.”

 

“Can you teach--” Sirius starts, but at that moment a woman’s voice cuts through the woods.

 

“Sirius Black!” it says, and Sirius groans, recognizing it instantly. He turns to see his cousin, Bellatrix, trampling through the trees, hands on her hips, looking cross.

 

“Bella,” he says. “I’m sorry. I was about to come home, I swear.” His lie falls to deaf ears. Bellatrix walks right up to him, pinches his ear, and pulls him to his feet.

 

“Look at your clothes,” she says. “You went swimming in your day clothes?”

 

“No!” Sirius says, screwing up his face as Bellatrix pinches harder. “I fell into the river. It was an accident.”

 

“And where are your shoes?” she asks, ignoring his explanation. She glances over and sees the boy, who has also scurried to his feet, warily watching Bellatrix. “And who’s this?” she asks, glaring at the boy.

 

“Um,” Sirius says, realizing he doesn’t know the boy’s name. “He’s the one who pulled me out of the river.”

 

“I recognize you,” Bellatrix says. “You’re one of those system kids who lives in the village on the other side of the forest.” The boy says nothing. “Go on, now,” Bellatrix adds rudely. “We don’t mix with your kind. Sirius here should have known better than to talk to filth like you.”

 

“Bella!” Sirius exclaims. “He’s not filth, he’s my friend! I told you, he saved me from the river.”

 

“If you had stayed home and just received your punishment from Auntie like you were supposed to, you wouldn’t have been in the river in the first place,” spits Bellatrix. “Now come home. I told your mother I’d fetch you.”

 

Sirius looks apologetically towards the boy, who just smiles sadly at him.

 

“Remember what I said,” says the boy softly, as Bellatrix starts pulling Sirius away. “You just have to concentrate really hard. Anyone can do it.” He then turns on his heel and starts to run, disappearing through the trees.

 

Sirius stares at the spot the boy had been, until Bellatrix tugs him so hard he’s afraid his arm is going to pop out of its socket, and he finally trails behind her, letting her lead him back to Grimmauld Place, where he knows his mother is waiting with a ruler and his bedroom key.

 

That night, with an empty stomach, lying on his bed, staring up at his ceiling, he thinks of the strange boy he met in the woods, and his supposed magic. Sirius closes his eyes and tries to concentrate, seeing if he can feel everything being connected, like the boy insisted they were, but he doesn’t feel any different.

 

He sits up, back against his headboard, and grabs a pencil off his bedside table, and holds it in the palm. He stares at it, like the boy did to the leaf, and clears his mind the best he can. 

 

‘I’m going to make this pencil float,’ he thinks to himself over and over again, but after several long minutes all he’s got is a headache, the pencil still static in his hand. He tosses it onto the floor in frustration, and buries his head in his pillow. 

 

The next day, he sneaks away again into the woods, searching for the magic boy, to ask him to teach him what he’s supposed to do to be able to make things move with his mind. He looks through the woods until sundown, but he doesn’t see the boy, nor any trace that he’d been there.

 

Sirius goes back to the woods each day for the rest of the summer, but he never finds the boy again. By the time he goes back to school in the fall, he’s starting to believe that it was all just in his imagination.

 

‘There’s no such thing as magic,’ he tries to tell himself, but even as he thinks it, he knows it isn’t true. He  _ saw _ the boy do magic, he knows he did, whether he sees him again or not. 

  
And if that boy can do magic, Sirius figures--spending his school days trying to concentrate, not on his lessons, but on everything being connected--then so can he. 


	2. The Staircase to Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> new roommate. a staircase to nowhere. a giant penis made of clay. school has begun.

“We’ve got a fourth roommate this year,” James says as soon as he reaches Sirius and Peter in the main office hallway, where they are comparing schedules. 

 

Sirius, who was counting the number of classes he and Peter have together, (most of them, except Pete is taking remedial English and, for some God awful reason, picked sewing as his elective), looks up and frowns. “What?” he asks. “No way.”   
  


“Yes way,” says James solemnly, plopping himself down on the bench beside his friends. “I just checked our room assignment, and we’ve got a fourth roommate.”

 

“Who is it?” Peter asks, knitting his eyebrows together. “There aren’t any other third year students in Gryffindor Hall, ‘sides us.”

 

“Transfer student,” says James, plucking Sirius’ schedule from his hands and glancing over it. “I asked McGonagall while I was there—oh hey, we’ve got phys. ed together,” he adds, distracting himself from his own story, as he is wont to do. “That’s great, because I didn’t get into advanced English, so you’re taking that one on your own.”

 

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?” Sirius says, taking his schedule back and folding it into a small square.

 

“Whatever. You know I hate lit courses. I can never concentrate on the books. It’s probably for the best, though. Hooch says if I don’t get my English grade up, I won’t be able to play this year, and advanced English would have made that pretty much impossible.”

 

“Weren’t you telling us about our new roommate?” Peter reminds him, used to James being tangential. 

 

“Oh yeah,” he says. “I dunno, he’s just some public student bloke who got a scholarship or something. No one any of us know.”

 

“What’s the point of coming here two years in?” Sirius asks. “Might as well just stay at public school, yeah?”

 

“Looks good on uni apps, I guess?” James suggests with a shrug.

 

“Yeah, I suppose,” Sirius says, feeling bitter. He knows it’s unfair, but he already resents this boy. Hogwarts, for him at least, has been the closest thing to a home he’s ever had, and even though it’s not this mystery kid’s fault, it feels like a purposeful imposition. 

 

He, James, and Peter have been rooming together at boarding school since they were kids. James—dark-skinned, with wild, natural hair, who, even at eleven years old, had a demanding and outgoing personality that toed the line of arrogance—fit perfectly with Sirius, who thrived on attention and did everything in his power to be larger than life. 

 

Peter, who would have been a natural odd one out when juxtaposed with the duo that was James Potter and Sirius Black, instead complimented their personalities with a down-to-Earth style that leveled out the dynamic. Peter was well-off, but not rich like his friends. He was smart, but not ingenious like Sirius, or endlessly clever like James. He was up for mischief, but had a sense of self-preservation, which the other two seemed to lack. That is all to say, the trio worked, and Sirius wanted to keep it that way. 

 

“Cheer up,” James says, nudging Sirius in the side with his elbow, picking up on his friend’s sudden melancholy. “No sense worrying about it. Listen, I promise I won’t fall in love with the new kid and run away to elope with him, okay?”

 

In spite of himself, Sirius grins. “Like you could ever fall for anyone,” he says. “You’re too busy making googly eyes at Evans.” 

 

“This year is the year,” James says brightly, puffing out his chest. “Mark my words.”

 

“You say that every year,” Sirius points out, checking his watch. He gets to his feet. “Come on, your mum said she’d meet us at ten to help us move our things, and it’s nearly a quarter ‘til.” 

 

—-

 

Gryffindor Hall, where Sirius has spent the better part of his life, is a grand, looming building that looks as though it was plucked straight from ancient Rome. There is a long staircase leading up to the grand double doors, bordered by two tall columns on either side. Just adjacent to the entrance, placed on a concrete slab in the middle of the green space, is a large lion, meticulously carved out of stone. The beginning of terms finds this lion in perfect condition, the hedges surrounding it having recently been trimmed, and the marble freshly hosed down. It is futile, of course, for the school officials to attempt such an upkeep, since soon—perhaps even by tonight—the lion will be the target of an abundance of cruel and humiliating pranks, perpetrated by members of the other three halls. 

 

The pranks won’t be one-sided. The students of Gryffindor Hall are notorious for their ruthless tricks. (It is with little coincidence that this reputation developed shortly after the admission of the Prewett brothers, and then, the subsequent arrival of Sirius, James, and Peter.)

 

Indeed, defacement of school property is considered a form of student bonding—or so everyone tries to insist, whenever they find themselves spending their Saturday afternoons doing menial tasks for Mr. Filch, the head janitor. 

 

The sight of the Hall fills Sirius with a warmth that spreads to the tips of his fingers, and all the way down to his toes. He loves it here. Gryffindor Hall is the antithesis of his family life. His peers are blunt, mischievous kids, who speak out of turn and tout hard-headed beliefs as though they don’t care about the consequences of voicing them. Slowly, as the years have gone by, Sirius has felt the rigidity of his prim and proper upbringing melt from his bones, the taste of rebellion outweighing the bitterness of his mother’s wicked tongue.

 

He hoists a box of various knick-knacks into his arms, and carries it up the steep stairs, revelling in the familiarity in each step. He instinctively avoids the crack in the fifth stair, and automatically props open the left door, since the stopper on the right always seems to slide. He meanders through the bustle of the hallways with a perfected ease. 

 

Every inch of this building feels like home. 

 

But this air of comfortable bliss is short lived.

 

After fumbling with his key while trying to balance the box in his hands, he goes inside his room to find it already occupied.

 

Any hope Sirius had of a period of adjustment to get used to the idea of a new roommate is crushed, as this roommate has not only arrived, but seems to have made himself at home.

 

The stranger is lounging on a bed he’s already made. His comforter is a blue and yellow galaxy print, which goes nicely with the glow-in-the-dark stick on stars he’s stuck on the wall around his headboard.

 

The boy himself is long, lean, and pale, his hair a mess of loose curls that frame his face, which is lined with tiny white scars. He has a book in his hands, the title of which reads,  _ Death by Black Hole: and Other Cosmic Quandaries _ . He looks at Sirius with a vague sense of disinterest, before saying, “hope it’s okay I picked this bed. They let me move in early, otherwise I would have just asked which you all prefer. It doesn’t matter much to me.”

 

“S’okay,” Sirius says, aware that he must seem very foolish standing in the doorway with a box, staring, but he can’t seem to do much else. “Are you the new roommate then?” 

 

The boy quirks an eyebrow, and Sirius realizes his question is stupid. Who else would he be? To his credit, the boy doesn’t point this out; he simply nods, saying, “my name is Remus. Remus Lupin.”

 

“Sirius Black,” Sirius says. He automatically tries to hold out his arm, his formal upbringing compelling him to shake Remus’ hand, but he nearly drops the box in his arm, and, fumbling, decides to forgo it.

 

“Sirius?” asks Remus. “Like the star?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Sirius says. “People don’t usually know that.”

 

Remus once again raises his eyebrow, an expression Sirius is quickly learning means, ‘you’re a bit thick,’ before gesturing around his small area, with the glow stars, and galaxy print blankets, and a model of the solar system Sirius just now notices is hanging on the ceiling above Remus’ bed.

 

“No Pluto,” Sirius muses, nodding at it.

 

“Well, there wouldn’t be, would there? Seeing as it’s not a planet.” 

 

“Pshaw,” Sirius says, feigning insult. “Always a planet to me, mate.”

 

“Yeah, well, tell that to Neil,” Remus says, holding up the book he was reading and smiling slightly. He stretches out on the bed, and Sirius can tell that Remus will tower quite a bit over him when he’s standing. Sirius—who is used to being the one with the demanding presence—feels unusually small. “By the way, you gonna sit that box down sometime in this decade, or…” Remus asks him, and for what feels like the millionth time during this interaction, Sirius feels foolish.

 

Without a word, he goes over and sits the box down by the bed closest to Remus’. 

 

He stands up straight and feels at a loss, which is a peculiar feeling for him. Sirius is used to being the loud and rambunctious presence in the room, but something about Remus Lupin makes him trip over his own tongue. Is this, he wonders, what it’s like to be shy? If so, then being shy is  _ terrible _ . 

 

Just as he is mulling over what to say next without sounding like a bumbling idiot, he’s saved by the arrival of James and Peter.

 

“Oi,” says James immediately at the sight of Remus on the bed. “Who’s this?”

 

Sirius, mouth working faster than his brain, goes to answer James’ question, but gets stuck on whether or not he should say ‘Remus’ or ‘Lupin,’ and how should he introduce a person he’s just met? And in all the confusion, what unfortunately comes tumbling out is, “this Rupin.” 

 

The three other boys stare at him for a moment of very embarrassing silence.

 

“Uh, not quite,” says Remus, giving Sirius that perpetually raised eyebrow. He turns to James and says, “I’m Remus Lupin, your new roommate.” 

 

“That’s what I meant,” says Sirius, but the others don’t seem to hear him.

 

“Good to know you, mate,” James tells Remus, sitting down a duffel bag on one of the empty beds as a form of dibs. “I’m James.”

 

“And I’m Peter,” adds Peter, claiming the bed next to James. Sirius notes, but doesn’t voice, that he is now left with the bed right beside Remus’. 

 

“Nice to meet you,” Remus says, not meeting any of their eyes, and turning back to his book. James shares a glance with Sirius.

 

“So you’re new to the school, then?” James asks, and Remus looks up at him, as if surprised the conversation is continuing. 

 

“Yeah?” he says a bit rudely. James, seemingly less affected by Remus’ blunt and standoffishness than Sirius, asks,

 

“Why the transfer?” 

 

“Does it matter?” Remus sounds more confused than rude at this point, like he’s not used to people being curious about him. 

 

“It doesn’t,” says James. “Just peculiar is all. People usually don’t transfer here halfway through.”

 

“Don’t they?” asks Remus, turning his gaze away from James, going back to his book, a small crease between his brows. “I’m not often privy to what people usually do or do not do.” 

 

He doesn’t say more, and James eyes Remus for a moment before letting it go. He says to Sirius, “come help get the rest of the bags,” and heads out the way he came.

 

As they go back down the steep staircase, Peter asks, “what’s up with the new guy? Seemed like a bit of a tosser to me.”

 

“Dunno,” says James. “Maybe he’s just awkward around new people. You were talking to him before we got there, Sirius, he say anything?”

 

“Not really,” says Sirius. “All I got from him is that he apparently likes space a whole lot, and also makes me feel like an idiot.”

 

“Well if he really is an arsehole we’ll shut it down,” says James confidently, lifting a suitcase out of the trunk of his mother’s car. “Zero tolerance for arseholes.”

 

“We’re kinda arseholes,” Peter points out.

 

“Yeah, but we’re the fun, loveable kind,” James clarifies. “Not the kind you want to punch.”

 

“Pretty sure all three of us have been punched on more than one occasion,” Sirius says.

 

“You know what I mean,” says James with an eyeroll, hoisting the case up onto his shoulder unnecessarily. James, the physical embodiment of the phrase ‘hit the gym,’ likes to show off his strength at every turn. 

 

Back in the room, Remus hasn’t moved, except maybe to turn a page. He doesn’t look up as the other boys lug the rest of their belongings into the room and start unpacking. 

 

“Oi, Pete, I brought along an extra laundry bag this time. Try to make sure your dirty socks make it into it this year, yeah?” says James, throwing a pillow at Peter’s head.

 

“S’long as you promise not to try that stupid piss the bed prank on me again,” says Peter, tossing the pillow right back. 

 

“We gotta beta test our pranks before we ship them out, Pete,” says Sirius. 

 

“Yeah, well, six different times you’ve put my hand in warm water, and I’ve not pissed the bed, so you can probably assume that one’s a dud, don’t you think?”

 

“He’s probably right,” says James to Sirius.

 

“True. We’ll just have to test something else out on him,” says Sirius in reply, and Peter grumbles, and their banter continues like normal. But as natural as it comes, Sirius is aware of Remus on the bed next to them, not offering up any comments, or even an occasional laugh. Was this how it was going to be all year? The three of them living life like usual, with Remus, a silent rock, just sitting there? 

 

“Did your old school have any pranking, Remus? Practical jokes?” Sirius asks, trying his hand at including him in the conversation. Remus’ eyes flick up to his for a millisecond before going right back down to the page. 

 

“I was in public school,” he says dully. “The whole thing was a practical joke.” 

 

Alright then, thinks Sirius, so much for that plan. 

 

Annoyance wells up in his belly. Remus throws off the balance of the place, and it doesn’t seem fair that school should feel so off kilter when his home life is so miserable.

 

He feels one of his moods coming on. He has a tendency to be quick to anger and what the school counselor calls ‘erratic behavior,’ and although he’s got it mainly under control now—he was a bit of a terror in his younger days—they still can sneak up on him.

 

“I’ll be back,” he says curtly, mostly to James, who takes one look at Sirius and knows.

 

“We’ll be here,” he says casually, but Sirius can tell he’s concerned. Sirius tries to smile to reassure him, but he’s pretty sure it comes off as a grimace. 

 

Sirius heads down a back end corridor hidden behind the marble statue of their house founder, Godric Gryffindor. The hallway leads to a heavy, fire door with chipped paint. Behind the door is a dark and narrow staircase, and Sirius climbs it to the top. It doesn’t lead to anything but a small bit of landing that hardly fits a single person, and one lone window with splintering wood around the edges. Sirius very carefully lifts the window, props it open with a broken broomstick handle that’s been left on the floor, and crawls out, right onto the roof.

 

Sirius and his friends found this passageway late one night during their first year at the school. They refer to it now as the Staircase to Nowhere, and they’re pretty sure they’re among the only people who know about it, although they wouldn’t put it past the Prewett brothers to have found it as well. It has come in handy for many pranks, and sometimes, just late night sneakouts, where they wandered the grounds past hours, mapping it all out until they knew every niche and corner of the campus.

 

The roof is littered with leaves and branches from the tree that stands beside it. Sirius plops down on the dusty ground and crosses his legs. Closing his eyes, he breathes in a deep inhale and holds it. The school counselor, a severe woman named McGonagall, who also doubled as his English teacher, would tell him, every time he ended up in her office after losing his temper or doing something rash, that he needed to find a way to harness his moods before they controlled him. He’s taken to using an old trick.

 

Behind his closed eyes, he pictures a big, purple square. He puts all his focus into it, imagining the sharp, even edges, and vibrancy of color. He then takes the square and turns it into a yellow triangle. The yellow triangle turns into a blue circle, and with the hint of a grin, he decorates it in pink polka dots. 

 

He lets out the breath he’s still holding, his lungs burning, and his temper has begun to numb down to a low simmer. Always so reactive, he thinks about himself shamefully, just like his mother. 

 

But he wasn’t his mother. His mother neither wanted nor had any such control. Sirius, in his many years, has gotten very good at it. 

 

To prove it to himself, he picks out a leaf on the ground at random, and holds out his hand towards it, but does not touch it. He does several long breaths, clearing his mind of anything but the leaf. Then he feels it—his hand is now a part of the leaf, and he lifts it easily into the air as though he were the wind. He’s pulling on the strings of the Universe; he’s feeling how everything around him is connected. 

 

A calm washes over him, and he sees himself back inside.

 

—-

 

“You okay?” asks James the second Sirius steps back over the threshold. 

 

“Yeah, fine,” he says, glancing at Remus, whose nose is still in his book. Sirius gives James a look that asks, ‘ _ has he said anything _ ?’ and James’ return look is a solemn,  _ ‘nope _ .’ Sirius, still riding his magic high, as he likes to call it, decides to be unconcerned with it at the moment. He’s about to plop himself down onto his bed and mess around on his laptop, when a knock comes at the door. 

 

“Expecting someone?” he asks the room in general, and James and Peter shake their heads. Remus doesn’t do anything, and Sirius takes that as a no. He opens the door and furrows his brow. “Are you lost?” he asks, because standing outside their room is the beautiful and peppy face of Lily Evans. The very same Lily Evans James lusted after, and the same Lily Evans who hated all three of them with every fiber of her being.

 

“Surprisingly, no,” says Lily with her nose in the air. “But I’m also not here to see you. I’m here because I heard—” She peers over Sirius’ shoulder, and scares the living hell out of him by suddenly shrieking, “ _ Remus _ !”

 

At Lily’s voice, Remus’ head pops up, and he instantly becomes a brand new person. A wide, crooked smile blooms across his face, and he looks as giddy as a kid in a candy store. He slams his book down flat onto his nightstand, and all but catapults off his bed. Lily shoves past Sirius, and meets Remus half way, collecting him into a crushing embrace.

 

“Lils,” says Remus sweetly, grabbing her tight about the waist and lifting her up so her feet fly off the floor, and he spins her around. 

 

The other three watch on, perplexed. Or, Sirius and Peter watch perplexed. James has exceeded perplexion. Some mixture of shock, jealousy, and confusion gathers on his reddening face, his jaw falling open as Remus let’s Lily down, and Lily immediately plants two wet kisses on either one of Remus’ cheeks. 

 

“Why didn’t you  _ tell _ me you’d arrived,” asks Lily, smacking Remus on the arm. “You should have phoned.”

 

“He wouldn’t let me,” says Remus.

 

“Bastard,” Lily mutters, taking her hand and running it over Remus’ face, examining the faint scars. 

 

“Not to worry now, though,” says Remus, taking hold of her wrist gently, and moving it away. Lily smiles sheepishly.

 

“No, not now. Oh,  _ Remus _ ,” she says, wrapping her arms around him again. “It’s  _ so _ good to see you. It’s been far too long.”

 

“Definitely,” Remus agrees, pressing his face into her hair. “How’s that family treating you? Still doing alright?” he asks without pulling away.

 

“Oh yeah, they’re still wonderful,” says Lily, grinning into his shoulder. “I’ve even taken to calling them mum and dad. I didn’t think I’d ever be comfortable doing that.”

 

“Have the papers gone through?”

 

“Processed in June. Everything’s official.” 

 

“That’s wonderful,” says Remus, pulling away and holding her in front of him at arm’s length. “What about that witch of a sister?” Lily scoffs.

 

“She’d probably say I’m the witch,” she says. “But it’s fine. She’s started seeing this boy from her uni, so she was hardly ever home during the summer holidays anyway.”

 

“Good.” 

 

The duo seems unaware that they are being watched. Or it’s possible they don’t care. The others exchange confused glances, not having a clue what Lily and Remus are talking about. Sirius clears his throat loudly, and the two finally turn away from each other and acknowledge the other three.

 

“As happy as I am to have you here,” says Lily to Remus, her tone snooty again. “It’s quite unfortunate that you’ve had to shack up with these three.”

 

“So I take it you two know each other?” Sirius asks. Lily scoffs, and Remus gives him The Eyebrow. “How’d you meet?”

 

Remus crosses his arms and shares a glance with Lily, and they have a silent conversation. Finally, Lily turns to Sirius and says, “we were in foster care together.”

 

This takes Sirius by surprise. Lily is one of the most popular girls on campus, and he had figured that if she were in foster care the gossip would have spread to the whole student body. As for Remus, he’s not remotely sure what to make of it. He knows nothing about him, and up until this point he hasn’t seem too keen on sharing anything personal. Sirius wonders if he’s just been told something deeply personal, but neither Remus nor Lily seem ashamed or embarrassed, so he decidedly keeps his face neutral.

 

“You don’t say?” he says as casually as possible, and both Lily and Remus laugh at him. 

 

“Lighten up,” says Remus, who has seemed to have taken his own advice and done just that. The Remus that had sent Sirius on a trek up to the roof in a fit of rage has now disappeared. He smiles easily, making eye contact, and bounces lightly on the balls of his feet. “Where’s your dorm at, Lils?” 

 

“I’m on the floor just below you. It’s perfect, we’re neighbors.”

 

“That’s wonderful.”

 

“I probably should head back down, actually. I promised my roommate, Marlene, that I’d help her unpack. I just heard everyone gossiping about a new guy who was bunking with the Gryffindor trouble makers, and I knew it had to be you.” 

 

“Breakfast tomorrow? I don’t have class until nine.”

 

“Yeah, let’s meet in the food hall at eight? We can compare schedules.”

 

“I’ll see you there.” 

 

Lily grins and she wraps him into one more colossal hug, before waving at him over her shoulder and closing the door behind her. All three boys verbally assault Remus instantly.

 

“How long have you known her?” asks Sirius.

 

“You two aren’t a couple, are you?” asks James.

 

“Is Lily Evans an orphan?” asks Peter. 

 

Remus stares blankly at the three of them, taken aback by this attack. 

 

“Um,” he says. “I dunno. We’ve been friends since we were little. She got taken in by the Evans family nearly a decade ago, and they’ve finally legally adopted her. The rest of her story is hers to tell, not mine.” He tries to go back to his bed, but James steps in front of him, blocking his path.

 

“No no no, wait a minute,” he says. “You’re saying you’ve been friends with Lily Evans for  _ years _ ?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“But are you a couple?” asks James, and Remus looks at him curiously. 

 

“Does it matter?” he asks, but there’s a hint of mischief in his voice. James turns an impressive shade of scarlet, and Peter helpfully supplies,

 

“James has fancied her since our first year here.”

 

James casts Peter a look, but in all honesty, it’s not anything that’s much of a secret on campus. Everyone and their dog knows James is hopelessly obsessed with Lily Evans.

 

“Ahhh,” says Remus with a dawning realization. “So  _ you’re _ the guy she talks about.”

 

“She’s talked about me?” James asks so eagerly it’s pathetic.

 

“Well, if by ‘talked about’ you mean said, ‘Remus, you won’t believe this unbelievable tosser at school who acts like a lovesick puppy, complete with puppy antics. I wouldn’t be surprised if he chews up his own homework and pisses on the trees.’” Remus shrugs. “I may be paraphrasing.”

 

“Well now that’s just drivel,” says Sirius, trying to rein in James’ impending mental collapse. “We all know that if anyone here is like a puppy, it’s me.” 

 

“Does that mean you chew up your homework and piss on trees, then?” asks Remus, and it takes Sirius off guard, not expecting playful banter from the kid who minutes ago was pretending none of them existed.

 

“Only Peter’s homework,” says Sirius. “And I only use trees as toilets if I’m drunk.” 

 

“Seems reasonable,” says Remus, grinning slightly, and Sirius doesn’t know how to take it.

 

“Okay, but you still haven’t answered the question,” says James, so worked up Sirius is sure he’s going to start smoking out of his ears.

 

Remus reaches out and pats James on the shoulder. “Lily and I are not a couple,” he assures him. “‘Sfar as I know, she’s completely single.”

 

“Ok,” says James, exhaling loudly and letting Remus get to his bed. “Ok. Ok, good, that’s good. Phew. Sorry mate, it’s just...I don’t know if I could have shared a dorm with someone who had snogged Lily Evans.”

 

“Oh, snogged her?” asks Remus, plopping down onto his mattress and picking up his book. “You asked if I was dating her, you never said anything about if I’ve snogged her.” He says nothing else, burying himself in his paperback. 

 

“James,” Sirius says, taking hold of James and pulling him away from Remus before he can headbut himself at the boy at full speed—something Sirius has seen him actually do before. “Focus, man.”

 

“On what?” asks James distractedly, still glaring at Remus out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Well, how about on the fact that we’ve been here a full three hours, and all the house statues are in embarrassingly pristine condition?”

 

This seems to shake James out of it a little. 

 

“What did you have in mind?” he asks. 

 

“Not sure. There are only so many different ways to make the Slytherin stature look like a penis before it gets old. You got anything, Pete?”

 

“We could cover the Hufflepuff statue completely in honey. You know. Honey badger?”

 

“Not bad,” says Sirius. “But you know we’ve got to target the Slytherin’s first. Let them know the war has started before they declare it first.”

 

“Why don’t you deface your own statue as a message?” says Remus from behind his book. The other boys look at him.

 

“How do you mean?” asks Sirius.

 

“I dunno,” says Remus, turning a page. “The Slytherin mascot is a snake right? Why don’t you make a giant snake sucking the lion’s dick or something? Let ‘em know where they belong in the scheme of things.” 

 

The trio of boys all exchange a glance.

 

“Trelawney has a whole bunch of cardboard tubes and wire stashed in her art supplies room,” says James.

 

“And I packed that giant, fired clay penis Peter made during the pottery unit.” 

 

“We should definitely use that,” says Peter. “We need to make the amount of detentions I got for that worth it.”

 

“Boys,” says James. “I believe operation Back to School is now in effect.” 

 

They bump their fists together, and set to work. James and Peter head off to go break into the art room, and Sirius brings out a box labeled ‘FRAGILE’ from out under his bed. 

 

“So you are good at pranking after all?” says Sirius, glancing up at Remus, who, of course, keeps his eyes on his book.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

  
But Sirius can see the ghost of a smile form across his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! remember when i started this a year ago and then never came back to it? school ate my life, and other projects took precedence, but whenever someone asked i said i was intending to continue this, and i was not lying! here's the next chapter, friends! thank you for your continued patience. 
> 
> shameless plugs:
> 
> -if you like zombie aus, i have a wolfstar/jily au i update slightly more regularly
> 
> -visit me at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com 
> 
> deuces


	3. Happy First Day of Class, Ladies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> early morning scoldings. overprotective friends. calligraphy. classes have begun.

“Detention before classes have even begun—that’s got to be a new record for us,” James says with a hint of pride. It is the first official day of courses, and the trio finds themselves seated on a bench at a long table in the Great Hall, scarfing down food like animals, as they have arrived to breakfast quite late. 

 

The artwork they crafted the night before was already the talk of the school. The first to see it had been Kingsley Shacklebot, a boy in the year above Sirius and his friends, who had been close to the Prewett brothers before they’d graduated. Kingsley, who arrived to campus past nightfall, long after everyone else had already checked in, due to a delayed flight from a summer holiday to Norway with his family, had posted a picture of the statue to his Instagram, which had subsequently been taken by Gideon and Fabian Prewett, and posted to the official Hogwart’s student’s Facebook page with the caption, ‘King of the Jungle Brings Slytherin to Its Knees #proudgryffindoralum,’ which delighted the trio to no end, despite Remus pointing out that snakes didn’t have knees. By morning, the whole student body had seen it.

 

Unfortunately, however, the students weren’t the only ones who had observed the trio’s handiwork, and Sirius was awoken a full hour before his alarm by having his ear pinched and tugged sharply by a very cross looking Professor McGonagall, their Head of House.

 

“Up,” she said in a voice that insinuated murderous intent.

 

“This is the men’s dormitory, ma’am,” Sirius started to argue, but McGonagall had snapped her fingers an inch from his face, and pointed warningly to the floor, where she was very clearly expecting him to be standing  _ right this instant _ . 

 

“ _ Up _ ,” she said again. She then rounded on James and Peter, clapping her hands above their heads, startling them awake. “All three of you! Up! Now!”

 

James had tried to make a case for, ‘circumstantial evidence is all you’ve got, ma’am,’ until McGonagall helpfully pointed out that the clay penis they’d attached to the statue had Peter’s initials engraved in them, and that unless they wanted Peter to take all the blame, they were all to report to her office immediately.

 

They couldn’t very well let Peter take the fall, of course, not if they wanted to be able to coerce him into more questionable pranks in the near future, so with groans, they’d tumbled out of bed.

 

“Get dressed, I’ll be right outside waiting, so no funny business, you understand?” She’d walked towards the door, and held it open, but before stepping through, she paused, and said over her shoulder, “Remus, dear, if you’re awake, I do apologize. Unfortunately, you’ve been assigned to a room full of  _ imbeciles _ ,” and she slammed the door shut behind her.  

 

“No fair,” whined Peter, tugging on his trousers. “It was Remus’ idea in the first place!”

 

“Yeah, but there are no fingerprints to prove it,” said James, working the buttons on his shirt. “Clever, Lupin, keeping your hands clean.”

 

Remus, who hadn’t so much as stirred from beneath his pile of galaxy print blankets, had poked his head up to meet James’ eye, and then had the audacity to wink, right before burrowing himself back down into his mattress and mumbling a groggy, “Close the door a bit more gently on your way out, would you? Don’t want to go waking the whole floor now, do we?”

 

And now, over an hour later, after a lengthy reprimanding and two week’s of detention each, here the three of them sat.

 

“Why didn’t we throw Remus under the bus, again?” Peter asks for the third time. “I’m just saying, if it had been me, you would have thrown me under the bus immediately, so.”

 

“It’s not good etiquette to get your brand new roommate put into detention for a prank he only suggested, not orchestrated,” says James, practically inhaling scrambled eggs. “Besides, dude’s a natural. We need him on our good side if we want to utilize him in the future.”

 

“Speak of the devil,” says Sirius, nodding toward the entrance to the Great Hall, where Remus has just arrived, looking irritatingly well-rested and freshly showered. Sirius, who would consider his shoulder-length hair a dependent on his taxes if he could, only had enough time to pull it back into a loose bun on the top of his head. First day of school and he hadn’t even done his conditioning routine, and here Remus was with damp curls, and Sirius began wondering himself why they didn’t throw Remus under the bus.

 

“He got to sleep in. He looks nice and proper on the first day of classes, while we look like it’s mid-October or something,” says Peter, voicing what Sirius is keeping to himself. 

 

“Speak for yourself, I’m always September 1st Beautiful,” says James, chugging a glass of orange juice.

 

“Maybe, but Remus is September 1st Beautiful at  _ Lily Evans’ _ table,” Sirius reminds him, and James blanches. The three of them all look to where Remus is sliding onto the bench next to a glowing Lily Evans, pulling her into a one-armed hug and kissing her forehead.

 

“Still think we shouldn’t have thrown him under the bus?” asks Peter. 

 

“I stand by my decision,” James says, and Sirius wonders if he meant to clench his jaw as he said it. James stands up abruptly, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth and gathering his dirty dishes. “Gotta go,” he says through a mouthful of bread. “Gonna be late for English. Toodles.”

 

James saunters away, and Peter turns to Sirius. “Do  _ you _ think we should have left him off the hook?” he asks. He knows Sirius, more often than not, will go with James’ gut even if he disagrees.

 

“I think,” says Sirius, stirring his oatmeal absentmindedly, “that we have a leg up against the Slytherins, and we have Remus to thank for that, so not getting detention is his reward.”

 

Peter purses his lips, but shrugs. “Fine,” he says, getting to his feet. “But if you guys try to pin  _ anything _ on me this year, I’m remembering this.” He shoulders his backpack. “See you in Bio?” 

 

“Yeah, see you,” says Sirius, and then he’s alone. He watches Remus and Lily across the hall. Lily is talking animatedly about something, and Remus is laughing. Next to them are Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadows, Gryffindor girls who are always hanging around Lily.

 

Before Sirius can think better of it, he gets up, dumps off the remnants of his half-eaten breakfast, and goes over to their table uninvited. 

 

Lily stops talking when she notices Sirius standing there. Everyone looks up at him, but Sirius seeks out Remus.

 

“Missed you in McGonagall’s office this morning,” he says, and the corner of Remus’ mouth twitches slightly.

 

“Ha!” says Lily. “Did you honestly already get sent to McGonagall’s, Black? Before term has even officially started. Unbelievable. Although, not surprising. What a crass prank.”

 

“Crass, huh?” asks Sirius. “What do you think, Remus? Did you think it was crass?”

 

His mouth definitely twitches this time. He doesn’t break eye contact with Sirius as he says, “Well, I don’t know what the usual caliber of prank is around this place, but I thought it was somewhat clever. You know, for a high school prank.”

 

“You think it could have been better?” asks Sirius.

 

“I just think that if you’re going to, what was it you said last night? ‘Own the shit out of the Slytherins?’ You’re going to have to think beyond penis humor. It’s juvenile.”

 

“People love penis humor. It gets results.”

 

“But it’s not unique.”

 

“Well, why don’t you give us some ideas, then, if you’re so smart?”

 

“Don’t drag Remus into your stupid prank battle,” says Lily, pointing her fork at Sirius, flinging a few crumbs in his direction. “He doesn’t need you three getting him into trouble.” Then to Remus, she says, “Promise me you won’t get involved with the pranking bullshit.”

 

Remus smiles kindly at Lily, tugs her ponytail, and says, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

“I’m serious, they get in trouble every year but they get out of it because they’re rich. Don’t let them trick you into thinking there are no consequences.”

 

“I thought I was Sirius,” says Sirius so automatically he doesn’t even realize he says it. “And I personally like to think that we don’t face any huge consequences because of our natural wit and charm.”

 

“Yeah, and I’m sure that the fact that the Black family provides the school with 32% of its annual donations has nothing to do with it,” says Lily haughtily, and Sirius shrugs.

 

“Enough, kids,” says Remus. He turns to Lily, “I’ve got to go. I need to stop by my room before class.”

 

“Okay, but you didn’t eat all your breakfast. Did you get enough?” asks Lily. Remus lets out a breath of a laugh.

 

“Yes, I’m fine.”

 

“Did you take your blood sugar? I didn’t see you take it.”

 

“I took it before I came downstairs, chill out, Mom,” says Remus, stacking his bowl of soggy cereal on a plate with a half piece of jam on toast. 

 

Sirius didn’t realize Lily was tense until she visibly relaxes. “Okay. I’m sorry. Old habits, you know.”

 

“I understand, but I’m okay. I’ll see you later, love.”

 

“Library at four?”

 

“Library at four. Nice to meet you two,” Remus says to Marlene and Dorcas. He looks at Sirius, leans in, and says quietly so that only he can hear, “Later, King of the Jungle.” He winks, and Sirius is taken aback by the sudden fluttering in his belly. For a brief second he feels like he did the day before, standing with a bulky box in his hands, foolish in front of Remus.

 

He does not like that this seems to be recurring. 

 

The moment passes, but Remus is already gone by the time it is. Sirius turns back to the table and finds Lily glaring at him.

 

“What?” he asks, because while he usually deserves the glare of Lily Evans, he truly doesn’t know what he did this time.

 

“I know he’s the one who came up with the statue idea,” she says. 

 

“Did he tell you that?” 

 

“No, but he didn’t have to. The three of you aren’t clever enough to think of defacing your own statue.”

 

“Okay,” says Sirius, shrugging. “You caught us. It was his idea, but we did all the work, so it’s not like we’re taking credit for something we had nothing to do with. Are you actually mad that he didn’t get in trouble for it?”

 

“No, you idiot,” says Lily with an eyeroll. “I’m mad that…” She sighs. “Listen, I know Remus is clever, and lord knows you guys could use a bit of cleverness, but he  _ cannot _ afford to get in trouble, okay? He’s not like you, he doesn’t have mummy and daddy’s name to hide behind. He doesn’t have infinite chances like you guys; he’s got exactly one chance, and if you screw it up for him, I promise you I will fuck. Your shit. Up. Understand?”

 

Sirius, frankly quite sick of getting ranted at so much this early in the morning, crosses his arms, jaw set. “I was under the impression that Remus was a functioning human being who could make his own decisions.”

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how manipulative you three can be.”

 

“You’re making a lot of assumptions and accusations this morning, Evans, and I gotta say, I’m not a fan. James may find everything you do, right down to the way you shit, super charming, but I don’t.” Marlene and Dorcas both let out small noises of disbelief at this, but Lily’s glare only gets harder. “You know, I don’t know why you see us as predatory as you do. You realize James and I are top of the class, and that’s  _ with _ James failing English. We’re not stupid.”

 

“That’s what makes you dangerous,” says Lily. “You’re smart but you’re reckless. It’s an obnoxious combination on its own, but it’s a poisonous one to Remus.”

 

“Why are you so obsessed with Remus? I get he’s your friend, but he’s sixteen not six. Cut the cord, Evans, damn.”

 

Lily slams her hands onto the table, startling Sirius in addition to Marlene and Dorcas. She gets to her feet, grabbing her bag and throwing it over her shoulder roughly. “If you’re talking about me worrying about him eating enough,” she says, stacking plates with loud clattering sounds, “it’s because there was a time in our history together where that question wasn’t me not being able to ‘cut the cord.’” She throws her cutlery onto her pile so hard they bounce off and she has to pick them up again. “He’s diabetic and it hasn’t always been managed, so excuse me for worrying about my best friend.” 

 

She scoots out from behind the table and shoulders past Sirius in a huff. She pauses just long enough to turn around and say, “Just remember what I said, Black. You do anything to him, and I’ll fuck your shit up. No hesitation, no questions asked.” 

 

As she storms out of the Great Hall, Sirius turns to Marlene and Dorcas, who are staring up at him with identical expressions of amusement.

 

“Well,” he says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Happy first day of classes, ladies.” He turns on his heel and heads out the door.

 

—-

 

It figures, of course, that his first class on this day of all days, is Advanced English with Professor McGonagall. He goes inside the classroom and is greeted with a spectacular glare from his Head of House, a look whose sourness is rivaled only by Lily Evans.

 

“Professor,” he mutters.

 

“I hope you’ve managed to stay out of trouble since last I saw you,” she says haughtily.

 

“I saw you less than an hour ago,” says Sirius, defensive.

 

“I would be a fool to put it past you. Take a seat.”

 

Scowling, Sirius pushes past her and surveys the seating situation, only to find that he’s late enough that there are only two seats left. One is in the middle of the classroom, right next to Barty Crouch, who he’s pretty sure has a neo-Nazi blog and spits when he talks. The other, in the back corner, is, of course, next to Remus Lupin.

 

This day couldn’t get any more spectacular, Sirius thinks gloomily, adjusting his bag and heading to the seat next to Remus.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” says Remus while Sirius plops down on a wobbly seat and begins digging through his bag for a blank notebook and a pen. “Advanced English, huh?”

 

Sirius looks up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“What’s what supposed to mean?”

 

“‘Advanced English huh?’ Do we not seem like Advanced English types?”

 

“Well, to be fair, I don’t see James or Peter here, do I?”

 

Sirius has to concede this point.

 

“Pete’s marks aren’t great,” he says, flipping open his notebook and writing the date in the corner. “But James is top of the class.” He smirks down at his paper. “Well, right below me.”

 

“I see. My mistake, then. You’re an Advanced English type, and apparently into calligraphy.”

 

“Huh?” Sirius asks, glancing at Remus, who nods down at the paper Sirius had stopped writing partway through on. In a loopy and elegant scrawl, he’d written out, ‘First of September, Two Thousa.’ “Oh this?” says Sirius. “This is nothing, my friend. Any child who got tutored in the Ancient House of Black writes like this.”

 

“What if you just have naturally terrible handwriting?”

 

Sirius shakes his head. “Trust me, they know how to smack a ruler on your knuckles in such a way that you never forget how to hold a pen.” 

 

“Yikes,” says Remus, but there’s not a lot of surprise behind it. “Did you get extra shit? Since you’re left handed?”

 

Smiling, surprised Remus noticed, Sirius says, “Not really, but that’s just because I’m a fast learner. My brother, on the other hand, couldn’t ever figure out how to get the left handed slant out of his writing, so they made him right handed.”

 

“That’s dedication,” says Remus. “I’m pretty sure my handwriting hasn’t improved since grade three.” He holds up his planner as proof, where he’s written notes to himself that are essentially illegible. 

 

“Bright side,” says Sirius, grimacing at Remus’ unruly scrawl. “At least no one can ever read over your shoulder.”

 

Remus laughs. “Yeah, no one can read it, period. Teachers always require me to type up my assignments. I’d ask you to teach me calligraphy, but I’d rather keep the bruises off my knuckles.”

 

He says it easily, but Sirius is conscious of the mysterious, white scars all over Remus’ face, and wonders if those were once teaching tools too. 

 

“Thanks, by the way,” Remus says. 

 

“For what?” asks Sirius, taken aback by the change of subject.

 

Remus glances up at the front of the class where McGonagall is in fervent discussion with a girl a year ahead of Sirius who he knows as Alice. “For not telling McGonagall about my involvement with the prank.”

 

Sirius shrugs nonchalantly, as if Remus’ getting off the hook hadn’t been an entire point of contention during breakfast that morning. “You barely did anything. You were the mastermind behind the idea, but we’re the ones who actually carried out the deed.”

 

“Yeah, I know, but I didn’t have to be a dick about it. I never learned how to, I dunno, exist around other people? So my default positions are sarcasm or avoidance. It’s nothing personal, just in case you thought it was. Lily’s kind of my only person, so this whole…” He gestures nonsensically, perhaps trying to encompass everything he’s not sure how to say. “People usually ask me my name, see my face, see how I act, and stop talking, so you guys wanting to have like, conversations with me? Endlessly perplexing, to be honest, and frankly, a bit terrifying.”

 

“If that’s true, then this conversation right now must be making you shit your pants, huh?”

 

“Oh yeah, but that’s okay, I’m always anxious on first days so I knew to bring a spare pair ahead of time.” He grins at Sirius who can’t help but grin back.

 

“I had a nice conversation with Lily after you left,” says Sirius, averting his gaze.

 

“Oh yeah? Well, given how Lily talks about you three, I’m going to have to assume you’re being sarcastic.”

 

“I thought sarcasm was your default position, I’d figure you’d be fluent in it.”

 

“I am, but my other default position is overwhelming self-doubt, so.”

 

“Gotcha. Well, yes, I was being sarcastic. It seems that Miss Evans is privy to your involvement in what will surely go down as one of the most legendary pranks in Hogwarts history, and she is...um, let’s say displeased.”

 

“Displeased? Are you sure you don’t mean ‘fucking pissed?’” 

 

“I did, but I was trying to be subtle. Don’t worry, though, she didn’t seem mad at you. She does, however, seem to think that James, Pete, and I are on a mission to lead you into teenage delinquency with our horrible ways, and are going to get you thrown out of school or something. Oh, and she told me you’re diabetic, which matters not at all in terms of how I view you, but I figured it was something personal you’d want to share on your own accord, and I’m kind of mad at Lily for yelling at me so I thought I’d throw her under the bus.”

 

“Fair. That’s fair.” Remus shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. “Yeah, sorry about all that. Lily is great, but she’s a bit protective. And don’t ask because I’m not going to get into it two minutes before the bell rings, but trust me when I say that her worry hasn’t always been unfounded, so try not to hold it against her.”

 

“I got that impression.”

 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t see you as horrid monster teens from a peer pressure advert, and I am quite capable of making my own choices and forming my own opinions, and one of those opinions is that I think I may find you and your friends rather entertaining, and one of those choices is that, if you’re willing, I’d like to take a shot at being your friend.”

 

“Might make sharing a room a bit more tolerable. If we were friends, I mean.”

 

“My thoughts exactly.”

 

Sirius holds out his hand. “Friends, then.”

 

“Is our friendship contractual? Are we shaking on it?” asks Remus, eyeing Sirius’ outstretched hand.

 

“Makes it official,” Sirius insists, and Remus grins.

 

“Alright,” he mutters, taking Sirius’ hand in his. Remus’ hand is surprisingly cold, and his skin is smooth and foreign against Sirius’ own rough and calloused palms. They shake on it.

 

“Settle down now, class,” comes McGonagall’s voice as the two of them drop their arms to their sides. “Settle down, and pay attention. Welcome to Advanced English. If you’ve thought I’ve been strict before—which I know you have, as I have told you before, teachers are not deaf to gossip—you should up your expectations for this class. 

 

“This is a mixed class, for both year threes and year fours, and the year fours will tell the younger of you, probably with an inappropriate number of expletives, how high my demands of you will be. I expect your best work. I expect you to do your readings on time, and if I have reason to suspect you have  _ not _ done your reading, I hold the right to dismiss you from class discussion and fail you for participation for the day. 

 

“Alright, I will now give you exactly sixty seconds to find yourself a partner. Do that now.”

 

The abruptness of this command takes the class by surprise, and there’s a frenzy while everyone partners up. Sirius looks to Remus who is already waiting to catch his eye. Sirius tilts his head in question, and Remus nods in response.

 

“Come back together now! Quiet down! Everyone’s got a partner? Good. This partner is going to be your partner for the duration of this class. There will be a number of activities that will require you to work with your partner outside of class, so make sure you hash out your schedules together now. I don’t want you coming up to me in three week’s time complaining that you couldn’t find a time to work together.

 

“If you need a new partner, I would like you to come to me sooner rather than later. If you come to me halfway through the term saying that it’s not working out, I am going to be annoyed, so if you could avoid any usual high school drama that would be wonderful.

 

“Now I will pass out our first text. We’re starting with  _ Beowulf _ . Who can tell me anything about this work?”

 

Sirius leans over to Remus and mutters, “You know, if you had told me when I walked into this class that I was going to be stuck with you as a partner for the whole term, I would have been so pissed off.”

 

“Mr. Black!” comes McGonagall's sharp voice. “Are you truly trying to test my patience when the ice you’re walking is already starting to split down the middle?” 

 

Snickers scatter throughout the classroom, and Sirius sits back up straight, rolling his eyes.

 

“Sorry, ma’am.”

 

“It’s in your best interest to keep those eyes from rolling in my direction,” McGonagall says, before calling on a student in the front row.

 

Sirius scowls, not even listening to whatever it is they’re discussing, but a voice comes from his right. He hazards a glance in Remus’ direction, as Remus says, with a smug smile,

 

“Good thing we’re friends now, huh?” 

  
And Sirius, in spite of himself, finds himself smiling too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alo alo alo, my dear friends. we have an update to this fic i am writing painstakingly slow. i do my best, but sometimes my best is kind of shitty. so it goes.
> 
> shout out to @moonys-butt
> 
> in case u missed it in every chapter of every fic i've ever posted, come follow me at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com, and feel free to check out my completed fic, "a wolf's heart," and my wolfstar/jily zombie wip au, "cogito ergo sum"
> 
> have a nice day <3 <3 <3


	4. We're All Just Stardust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rainy saturdays, snogging lessons, and the dog star; remus is fitting right in

Being friends with Remus, SIrius has decided, is infinitely preferable to the alternative. 

 

Certainly, there are the usual benefits of friendship, such as having someone to keep him entertained during class, and general companionship, but the more time he spends with Remus, the more he comes to realize that Remus is not the type of person you’d want on your bad side.

 

He is remarkably clever, which, given the prank he’d come up with so easily, didn’t come as a surprise, but Remus is also quick-witted, and has the dryest, most brutally sarcastic sense of humor Sirius has ever seen. Every session of Advanced English has now become a challenge, where Sirius has to grapple between avoiding McGonagall’s wrath or bursting out laughing, as Remus spends the whole class period whispering rude, if accurate things about their classmates.

 

“If  _ Chaucer’s _ writing has stood the test of time,” GIlderoy Lockhart—a third year student who was in all advanced classes, despite being incredibly thick—said during Wednesday’s class period. “Then I can’t wait to see how  _ my _ writing holds up. I’ve been published in the school literary magazine, you know?” 

 

“How do you think he manages to shit with his head that far up his own arse?” Remus had whispered to Sirius, and Sirius coughed inelegantly into his elbow to cover up his laughter.

 

It also so happens that Remus Lupin is a pranking mastermind. 

 

Two weeks into the school year, and Gryffindor house is reigning supreme amongst the student body in the annual pranking war, and as much as Sirius wants to take the credit for it, he knows it is all thanks to Remus. Sure, the original trio is just as full of new ideas as always, but Remus somehow always knows what to add to take a good prank and turn it great, as though he was a missing piece to their puzzle that they hadn’t even realized was missing.

 

“Instead of covering the Hufflepuff statue with honey, why don’t you sneak into their house while they’re sleeping and put honey on anything that won’t cause too much property damage. You know, staircases, toilets, faucet handles? It’ll take them ages to clean it up.”

 

“You said the Ravenclaws are all a bunch of smartsy, artsy kids, yeah? Well, you know how Flitwick leaves his office door unlocked when he runs down to the staff lounge to refresh his coffee before class? Well, we have a test in biochem Friday, which gives you plenty of time to come up with a fake test with questions we’ve never covered, and then sneak into his office before the bell and slip in the fake tests in with the real ones. Look, I wrote down the seating chart during last session. Now, it usually takes Flitwick about seven minutes to go to and from the staff lounge, so you’ll have to work quickly…”

 

Pretty soon, Remus isn’t just Sirius’ friend, but James and Peter’s as well, as they begin to realize the extent of his brilliance. And while he is clearly unfamiliar with the concept of having people actually  _ like _ him, Remus is taking it all in stride, and it isn’t long before the off-putting boy hiding behind his book was just a memory. Remus now laughed easily, joked readily, and wasn’t afraid to poke fun at the others for anything and everything, in an air of camaraderie that fit the group like a glove. The trio was now a quartet. 

 

The third Saturday of the term finds the four of them lounging around their room, bored out of their skulls. James and Sirius are sitting on James’ bed playing a game of chess that neither of them are putting that much effort into. Peter is browsing gaming forums on the rug without much enthusiasm, and Remus has been staring at the same page about ancient Rome in his history textbook for the past twenty minutes.

 

Earlier, they had half-heartedly tried thinking up pranks, but there is no one to target until another house made a counter-attack, and pranking brainstorm sessions are never as exciting if there isn’t instant gratification. James suggested a game of football out on the grounds, but the light drizzle that had been happening all morning had since turned into a downpour, big raindrops pinging loudly on the windowsill, trapping them indoors. 

 

“Checkmate,” says Sirius dully, moving his rook into a kill position. 

 

“Ugh,” says James, flinging himself backwards onto his mattress and throwing an arm over his eyes. “This is so  _ boring _ . There’s gotta be something we can do.” 

 

“What do you guys usually do when you aren’t terrorizing the student body?” asks Remus without looking up from his unturned-page. 

 

“Explore,” Sirius says. “Sneak into the kitchens and get them to give us sweets. Get drunk.” 

 

“Has the rain let up at all?” asks Peter from the floor. James reaches over to the window to pull back the curtain, revealing a grey and wet view. They all groan. 

 

“Who works kitchens Saturday afternoons?” asks James.

 

“Ms. Winky,” says Sirius.

 

“She won’t let us in,” says Peter. “She’s a stickler for the rules.” Sirius nods in agreement, and James flops over onto his belly, burying his face into his comforter, grumbling. 

 

“Bored!” comes his muffled voice, mouth full of fabric.

 

“You got any booze, Remus?” asks Sirius. “We’ve not got a chance to stock up yet. There’s an old student who works at a pub in the village down the road who sells kids here weed and whiskey.”

 

“Sounds charming,” says Remus, finally conceding defeat and slamming his history book closed. “And no, I don’t. Didn’t seem like a great idea to bring illegal substances onto campus while on scholarship.” 

 

“Probably for the best,” says Peter. “Things always get weird when we drink anyway. Remember last time, when you convinced me to dress in drag and go knock on random people’s doors and try and convert them to Scientology?” 

 

“No offense, but that sounds like something you all would do fully sober,” says Remus, pulling himself into a sitting position, and bringing his knees up to his chest.

 

“You’re not wrong,” Sirius agrees. “We’d been trying to get Pete to do that for weeks, but he was much easier to convince when drunk.” 

 

“It was humiliating.”

 

“Not our fault you can’t hold your liquor, mate,” says Sirius.

 

“I looked ridiculous.”

 

“You looked beautiful,” says James, turning his head so they can hear him. 

 

“I really didn’t.”

 

“No,” James amends. “You didn’t. It was great.”

 

“I don’t get it. Sirius wears all kinds of girl things, and everyone at the school fancies him, meanwhile I wear a dress one time and I still get called ‘Peter Princess’ by people I’ve never even talked to before.”

 

“It’s ‘cause you’re too insecure about your masculinity,” says Sirius, moving the chessboard so he can stretch his legs out. “You don’t wear dresses with any sense of confidence ‘cause you’re too worried about what everyone is gonna say about it. Not me. Girls get all the good clothes; I’m not gonna let gender norms muck up my aesthetic.” 

 

“You do have quite the aesthetic,” says Remus, grinning. “I doubt the school is too keen about you subverting gender norms in their classrooms, though.”

 

“It’s been a bit of a battle,” says Sirius, grinning right back. “In the school’s defense, they’ve only just started letting students wear their own clothes. Our first year here, we had to wear uniforms, it was awful.”

 

“Can’t imagine you’d like that much.”

 

“Not at all. Since then, though, I’ve, I guess you’d say, pushed the boundaries a bit?”

 

“Color me shocked.”

 

“Yeah, well, we’ve mostly come to a compromise, this school and I. They don’t say anything about the nail polish, and jewelry, and the occasional skirt, and I don’t threaten to go to administration with complaints of discrimination.”

 

“You know they only listen to you because your parents basically fund the school, right?” says James.

 

“Jokes on them,” says Sirius, flipping his long hair off his shoulders. “If my parents knew the sort of things I wear to class they’d pull my arse home so fast it’d make your head spin.” He turns back to Remus with a smirk. “The school board needn’t know that, though.” Remus rolls his eyes.

 

“So everyone here fancies you, huh?” he says, and for some reason, the way he says it makes Sirius blush. He opens his mouth to answer, but James beats him to it.

 

“Of course they do. Let’s check the boxes, shall we? Rich? Check. Attractive? Check. Rebellious? Check. Clever? Check. He’s a goddamn dreamboat.” James doesn’t sound particularly thrilled about this.

 

“Ignore him,” says Sirius to Remus. “He’s just bitter because he’s only ever been on one date in his life and she told him he was a terrible snogger.”

 

“She  _ did not _ ,” says James, kicking Sirius in the side.

 

“You’re right, I’m sorry. She said, ‘your technique needs work.’ Totally different thing.” 

 

“It was constructive criticism,” says James, burrowing his head again.

 

“Face it James, if you ever get Lily to come around, she’s gonna turn right back out the door once you come at her with your pufferfish lips.” 

 

In lieu of a response, James sits upright, and shoves a laughing Sirius right off the side of his bed. 

 

“What about you, Remus?” asks Peter. “Have you snogged anyone?”

 

Remus, who is shaking with silent laughter, is taken off-guard. “Me?” he asks. He sort of shrugs. “I mean, a fair few, I s’pose.” 

 

“What’s that mean?” asks Sirius from the floor.

 

“It means I’m not...inexperienced?” 

 

Sirius thinks about Remus getting  _ experienced _ , and finds he doesn’t like it. Avoiding examining that particular feeling any further, he continues to target James. “Here that, mate? Lily has already snogged someone with experience. You’re screwed.”

 

“I will truly not hesitate to murder you,” says James, throwing a pillow down on Sirius’ head with a sneer.

 

“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t experienced when I snogged Lily,” offers Remus. Given the expression on James’ face, Sirius doesn’t think this provides him with much comfort. “What I mean is that we didn’t snog out of any passion or romance. Neither of us had kissed anyone else, and we got talking about it one day, and...there you go.”

 

“So it was, what, just a peck on the lips?”

 

“Well,” says Remus, a bit sheepishly. “No, we truly snogged.” At James’ scowl, he quickly adds, “Just to see what the fuss was about! We never fancied each other, and it never went any further than snogging.” 

 

“I hate my life,” says James, once again displaying his dramatics as he throws himself onto his back once again.

 

“Really, you should consider it a good thing,” says Remus. James looks over at him doubtfully. “Think about it. Not only am I confident enough in my own snogging abilities to give you some pointers, but I also know what type of snogging Lily likes. You’ve got like, inside intel.” 

 

“You want to teach me how to snog?” he asks flatly, and Remus shrugs.

 

“Are you really worried about your, er, skills?” Remus seems to take James’ silence as a yes. “It’s really not that difficult. Your biggest barrier is nerves.”

 

“I’m listening,” says James tenuously. 

 

“Really, there are just three main things to keep in mind. One, read the other person; don’t go for a romantic movie finale kiss if they’re just giving you a quick peck goodbye. Two, keep the slobber to a minimum; you’re kissing them, not watering a plant. And three, and most importantly, there is  _ definitely _ such a thing as too much tongue.” 

 

“That’s it?”

 

“That’s it. And I mean like, practice helps of course.”

 

“How the hell am I supposed to practice if I don’t have anyone to practice  _ with _ ?”

 

“Just what are you implying, James?” asks Remus, with an exaggerated ‘come hither’ look. James laughs.

 

“Thanks but no thanks, Remus.”

 

“Fine, but I’m just sayin’, if all your experience is just cinema and a shit pre-pubescent snog, you’re gonna have a hard time knowing what to do.”

 

“Okay, then show me,” says James, sitting back up again. “Use Sirius.”

 

“Beg pardon?” says Sirius from the floor. Remus doesn’t say anything, but does raise a purposeful eyebrow. 

 

“If you’re such an expert, and Sirius is supposedly the most fancied boy on campus, you two show me how not to snog like a pufferfish.” 

 

Peter chuckles awkwardly as Sirius and Remus meet each other’s eyes. “Do it,” says Peter. “After all, you’re the one who’s so secure in your masculinity.”

 

“Excellent point, Peter,” says James. 

 

Sirius, who never in his life has backed down from a challenge, and who honestly has done much worse things than snog his roommate, is suddenly very unsure of himself. He waits for Remus to say he’s uncomfortable with it, but to his dismay, Remus just shrugs, and says, “Fine with me.”

 

And now he can’t back down—not without putting a big dent in his dignity, so he clears his throat, and says as confidently as he can, “Yeah, no big deal, it’s just a snog.” 

 

Remus swings his legs over the side of his bed and walks over to where Sirius is lying on the floor, and holds out a hand. Sirius takes it and lets Remus help him up to a standing position. Peter keeps letting out nervous chuckles, and James is grinning wickedly. Sirius lets Remus maneuver him so that they are standing face to face, with very little distance between them. He notices, with an odd lurch in his stomach, that among the thin, white scars on Remus’ face, there is a scattering of tiny freckles. 

 

“Are you paying attention?” Remus asks James sternly, who nods enthusiastically. “Okay, so I’m first going to take my hands, and do this.” Remus places his hands gently on either side of Sirius’s face, the tips of his fingers brushing along Sirius’ hairline. Sirius hopes that the gulp he takes isn’t audible. “You can, of course, experiment with where to put your hands, but this position is a good starting place, because it gives you more control in the kiss.”

 

“Right,” says James, seeming both immersed in the lesson, and also stunned that Remus actually seems to be going through with it. Sirius finds that he’s also stunned.

 

“Now,” says Remus. “As you go for it, remember the rules, and I’m adding a fourth one, which is start slow. It gives you a place to build from. I’ll show you. Ready, Sirius?” 

 

“Uh,” says Sirius. He swallows hard. “Yep. Go for it.”

 

Remus gives one small nod, and then tilts his head and presses his lips against Sirius’. True to his word, he starts very slowly, his lips barely parted, pushing firmly but gently, and gradually, Remus sucks Sirius’ lower lip into his mouth, and brushes his tongue against him. Unconsciously, Sirius responds, faintly aware that at some point he closed his eyes. He lets his own tongue slide over Remus’ as the kiss deepens, and somehow his hands are now wrapped around Remus’ waist, pulling him in even closer. Remus’ fingers are slowly massaging circles against his jaw, and he nibbles on Sirius’ lips, and Sirius thinks that this is quite possibly the best kiss he’s ever had in his life.

 

“Ahem,” comes James’ voice, and Sirius suddenly remembers where he is and who is watching, He hastily pulls away from Remus, embarrassed. He blushes even more at Remus’ self-satisfied smirk.

 

“Did that show you what you wanted to know?” asks Remus, frustratingly composed. Sirius feels like his legs are jelly, and is trying very hard not to show it, and Remus is either an excellent actor, or not nearly as affected, and once again Sirius feels that feeling of being an idiot that Remus seems to bring out in him so brilliantly.

 

“It was definitely informative,” says James, but he’s not looking at Remus. He’s grinning at Sirius like he just discovered a brilliant secret. “What do you think, Sirius?”

 

Sirius clears his throat, and shrugs nonchalantly, walking over to his bed as casually as he can, and plops down onto it.

 

“I think you should listen to him,” he says, determinedly not meeting Remus’ eye. “He certainly knows what he’s doing.”

 

—-

 

It’s well past two in the morning, and Sirius hasn’t slept a wink. He keeps replaying his kiss with Remus over and over in his mind. His  _ fake _ kiss, he reminds himself, his meaningless, was-just-for-show,  _ fantastic _ kiss. 

 

He tosses over onto his side with a frustrated ‘hmph.’ He clamps his eyes shut, but sleep feels a million miles away. He sighs, and is just about to give up and browse absently on his phone, when Remus starts making noise in the bed beside him. Sirius props himself up on his arm and watches Remus’ outline thrash around in his bed, muttering words that sound like pleads. 

 

“Remus,” Sirius calls out as loudly as he dares, trying to knock his friend out of his nightmare. “Remus, wake up, you’re dreaming.”

 

With a start, Remus awakes, immediately throwing his blankets off of him and pulling himself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Sirius can hear him breathing heavily.

 

“You okay?” Sirius whispers.

 

After a moment, Remus whispers back, “Yeah. Yeah, just a bad dream, go back to sleep.” 

 

Sirius debates for a second, before pulling back his own covers and going over to sit next to Remus on his bed, hoping he’s not crossing a boundary. “I wasn’t asleep,” he explains. “Wanna talk about it?”

 

“Not especially,” says Remus, calmer now, running a hand through his tangled mess of loose curls. Around them, Remus’ stick-on stars glow on the walls, and in their faint light, Sirius can see Remus worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.

 

“Wanna get some air?” asks Sirius. Remus doesn’t answer immediately.

 

“That actually sounds great,” he says finally. “But won’t we get in trouble for being outside past curfew?”

 

“Nah, I know a place, come on.” Sirius takes Remus by the arm and tugs him slightly to get him to follow. 

 

They sneak out of their dorm room, closing the door quietly behind them, and they both squint in the sudden brightness of the hallway. Sirius motions for Remus to come, and silently leads him down the path to their secret passageway. Remus doesn’t once ask where they’re going—just pads, barefoot, behind him, trustingly. 

 

“Through here,” Sirius says when they get to the marble statue. He slips behind it, and Remus hesitates only a moment before slipping in right after him. Sirius opens the door and the two of them climb the Staircase to Nowhere, and at the top, Sirius props open the window, and climbs right through.

 

“Why is this here?” asks Remus, letting Sirius help him onto the roof.

 

“No clue. We found it ages ago. We’re pretty sure almost no one knows it’s here.” 

 

The rain from earlier has stopped, but the roof is wet on their feet, and there’s a bitter chill in the air, but Remus breathes in deeply, eyes closed. Sirius lets him have his moment, looking away, out over the grounds, the only lights coming from the village up the way.

 

“That’s your constellation,” says Remus, and Sirius turns to see that he’s now staring up at the sky where most of the clouds have dissipated.

 

“Beg pardon?” 

 

“Canis Major,” says Remus, pointing up at the sky, clearly making more sense out of the map in the sky than Sirius is. “And right there, the brightest star? That’s you. The Dog Star.”

 

Sirius looks up to where Remus is pointing. To him it just looks like a bunch of shining dots with no rhyme or reason to their scattering, but Remus sees images out there; he sees stories.

 

“What made you so interested in space?” asks Sirius, looking back to Remus. 

 

Remus lowers his hand, and furrows his brow in thought. “I guess it’s just comforting to me,” he says after a minute. “To know that everything in the world is made of the same stuff; that Sirius the Dog Star however many light years away, and Sirius the person standing next to me are fundamentally the same.” He takes another deep breath, holding his hands out in front of him, touching the wind. “Everything’s connected,” he says softly. 

 

“Someone told me that once,” says Sirius, staring again at the sky, and so he doesn’t see the quizzical look Remus gives him. 

 

“I’m getting cold,” says Remus after a significant silence. “I’m going to try and go back to sleep. Thanks for this, though, it helped.”

 

“Anytime,” says Sirius, smiling at Remus who is going back towards the window.

 

“You coming?” he asks.

 

“In a minute.”

 

Remus nods, and angles himself back inside. Sirius listens to the old staircase inside creak under his footsteps, and the old door close. He turns back to the sky, and tries to see the stories written in the darkness that Remus sees so easily.

 

He closes his eyes and focuses, letting the energy of the world funnel through every atom in his body. He lets himself become the roof, the wind, the sky. 

 

“Everything’s connected,” he mutters to himself, and he lets himself become the Universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am going to try a thing, with the disclaimer that i am moderately mentally ill and it may not work, so you can't yell at me if it doesn't work.
> 
> but here's the thing: i am going to try and update this weekly. if that's too much, i may stretch it to bi-weekly, but i think if i make it habitual, it may help me finish it in a timely manner. to that same end, should that method work, i am going to do the same thing with my other WIP (if that's of any interest to you). 
> 
> so tentatively, the next update should take place on july 23rd. fingers crossed that i can stick to it. and as always, thank you so very much for your continued patience.
> 
> severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com: sometimes i post things, and sometimes they are funny
> 
> deuces


	5. Crooked Smiles and Jungle Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sirius is having a serious problem. remus hates parties. they compromise by dragging him to a party. what will happen next???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special shout-out to my french canadian padawan, moonys-butt, for being my resident diabetes expert

Sirius has a problem.

 

A serious problem, even. That’s how big a problem it is.

 

His problem is about 5’11” tall, has a mop of loose, brown curls hanging off the top of his head, and an affinity for space. His problem is his Advanced English partner, roommate, and one of his closest mates. His problem is possibly the funniest person in school, and probably the best kisser this side of England. 

 

Sirius has done everything in his power to solve this problem on his own. He has gone through four of the five stages of grief, particularly denial, but weeks after he casually exchanged saliva with Remus on a rainy Saturday afternoon, he’s forced to slide into the acceptance stage, and accept the conclusion that he fancies the shit out of Remus Lupin.

 

It’s not the fact that Remus is a bloke that gives him pause—Sirius, who rides the gender and sexuality wave up and down the spectrum with ease, couldn’t care less about that—but there are other factors that make this crush particularly inconvenient. 

 

Remus’ own sexuality, for example. Sirius doesn’t have a clue if any of the  _ experiences _ Remus mentioned included anyone of the same sex, and he doesn’t know how to ask without sounding conspicuous. Not to mention the fact that Remus finally seems comfortable with the three of them. What if Sirius were to admit to his crush, only to be met with rejection? Wouldn’t that irreparably damage the quartet that is so well-oiled and functional? 

 

And what about that crush? Sirius is self-aware enough to know that he isn’t exactly known for his commitment and stability. The opposite, in fact, is more true to his character. Sirius has dated, but never once maintained a relationship—he’s never had the desire. He finds he grows bored with people easily. What if he admits he likes Remus, and Remus reciprocates, only to have Sirius grow bored of him in a few weeks? Sure, this crush is more prominent and obnoxious than any crush he’s had on anyone in his entire life, but he respects Remus too much as a person to take the risk.

 

And so Sirius is dealing with this problem in the only way that seems available to him: Locking it deep, deep, deep inside, and throwing away the key.

 

Which would be all well and good, it really would, except Remus keeps being...  _ there _ . 

 

Everywhere Sirius goes, Remus seems to be there, just being Remus, and it is the worst. Because how is Sirius meant to repress his feelings when every time he turns a corner, Remus is there making some rude, yet incredibly apt, joke about a classmate, or is explaining a maths concept to Peter with incredible patience, or is just  _ smiling _ his dumb, stupid, perfect smile that Sirius has embarrassingly memorized, and now thinks about when he’s trying to focus on his studies. (It’s a bit crooked, favoring the right side of his face, and only his two front teeth are visible, and he’s got dimples, so faint you’d almost miss them if you weren’t paying attention, but unfortunately Sirius has been paying attention. A lot of attention.) 

 

A possible solution would be for Sirius to try and spend less time with Remus, which would be totally logical, if it weren’t for the fact that Sirius has about a milileter of self-control in his entire body, which is how he finds himself spending his Wednesday evening sitting across from Remus in the library, for the third night in a row. Remus is pouring over his studies, and Sirius is pouring over Remus, under the guise of doing his own studies, and it is all a complete mess.

 

Remus pushes away his textbook suddenly and looks up, and Sirius quickly pretends he hasn’t been staring. Remus smiles at him, crooked, favoring the right side of his face, with two faint dimples, and Sirius wishes for death. “Where are you at in  _ Paradise Lost _ ?” Remus asks.

 

Sirius glances at this book laid out in front of him that he hasn’t read a page of all evening. “Adam and Eve just got down and dirty in the Garden of Eden,” he says, picking up the book and flipping through the poem. “It’s pretty sexist stuff.”

 

“It’s basically Bible fanfiction,” Remus muses. “I, personally, am not that enthralled with it.”

 

“No? I was under the impression that you loved anything that was written down.”

 

“Correction: I’ll read anything that’s written down; doesn’t mean I like it. I can’t wait until we’re done with this dumb poem and can get into the Shakespeare unit.” 

 

“Of course you’d be a Shakespeare fan.”

 

“You should be one too,” says Remus, sitting back in his chair, and rubbing his eyes. “Half of Shakespeare’s stuff is fart jokes and your mum insults that people pretend are fancy because the language is weird. A lot of it is gay as hell, too.”

 

Sirius perks up a little, queer Spidey senses tingling.

 

“Is that right?” he asks casually.

 

“Oh yeah,” says Remus, digging in his bag and pulling out a half eaten chocolate bar. He peels some of the foil back and breaks off a piece. He pops it in his mouth, and around it he adds, “Especially the sonnets. Shakespeare was almost definitely into blokes.” 

 

“Wasn’t he married?” asks Sirius.    
  


“I mean, bisexuality exists,” says Remus, using his “this is obvious” voice. Sirius blushes. 

 

“Right,” he mumbles. “I know that.” 

 

“That’s good. I’d figure a bloke who’s fought the school board for the right to subvert gender norms would probably be up to speed with his queer lingo, but I’ve learnt not to make assumptions,” says Remus casually, stretching his arms over his head and yawning. 

 

Sirius’ heart quickens, and he doesn’t want to let go of this conversation just yet—not when he feels like he’s close to getting ahold of crucial information on Remus’ spot on the Kinsey scale—but he’s not sure how to continue it. He can’t just straight up ask, “Hey, so, do you know all this stuff because you’re a bit bent, because, hey, me too! Maybe we could…” No, that wouldn’t work at all. Sirius may have a reputation for crazy, impulsive, reckless behavior, but despite general opinion, he does actually have a bit of tact and a sense of self-preservation inside him. He opts instead for,

 

“A lot of kids that go here know just about as much on alphabet soup terminology as they do about quantum physics. You’d think I’m a damn enigma the way some of them talk about me. First I’m gay because I wear skirts. Then I’m the quintessential ladies’ man because I got to second base with Amelia from Hufflepuff house, and then, when I got caught snogging a fourth year Ravenclaw boy in the corridor outside McGonagall’s office, everybody lost their goddamn minds from confusion.” There. He has subtly outed himself and rolled the ball gently into Remus’ court.

 

Remus laughs but is otherwise unreadable.

 

“Yeah, I can just imagine their poor brains malfunctioning as they try and work out the mystery that is Sirius Black’s sexuality,” he says. “Back at my old school, I—”

 

“Hey, Sirius!” a girl’s voice comes up from behind them, cutting off whatever potentially revelatory story Remus was about to tell about his life pre-Hogwarts. Sirius puts all his effort into making his face look not enraged, and turns in his seat to see Mary MacDonald, an acquaintance-bordering-on-friend of his, approaching them.

 

“‘Lo, Mary,” he says. He is proud of himself for not adding, “Go away.” 

 

“How’re you?” she asks, leaning against one of the spare chairs at the table. “Oh, and hello, Remus was it?” 

 

Remus nods politely but says nothing, and Sirius is reminded of the quiet, anti-social kid hidden behind a book Remus had been when they first met not all that long ago.

 

“Fine,” says Sirius. “Just studying.” (—up on Remus’ romantic history.)

 

“That’s cool, then I won’t keep you long, I don’t mean to bother you—” too late, thinks Sirius, “—but I wanted to come and see if you already heard about the party Frank is throwing on Saturday. It’s for Halloween, though I don’t think anyone’s really coming in costume, since Halloween isn’t actually until Wednesday.” 

 

“I hadn’t heard, no,” says Sirius, reluctantly interested. He loves parties, and there hasn’t been one thrown yet this year, which he considers to be a travesty.

 

“Oh, well, you should definitely come! It’ll be a blast. We’re all going out to the opposite side of the lake right off school grounds for a bonfire. I’ve already seen some of the stashes of booze people are getting together for it. I think it’ll definitely be one for the history books. Bring Potter and Pettigrew. Oh,” she adds as an afterthought. “You’re invited, too, of course, Remus.” 

 

“Thanks, but I’m not much of a party person,” says Remus. Mary shrugs, and Sirius decides he will debate Remus on that later.

 

“Well feel free to tag along with Sirius if you change your mind, we’d love to have you. Anyway, I’m going to go grab supper before the Great Hall closes for the night. See you later!” Mary waves goodbye and skips away. Sirius turns back to Remus.

 

“What were you saying before?” he asks.

 

“Before what?” asks Remus.

 

“Before Mary came and interrupted.”

 

“Oh.” He waves a dismissive hand. “I don’t even remember anymore. Though she did remind me that food exists and we’ve been sitting here for nearly four hours. C’mon, let’s clean up and go get dinner. Lily will have my arse if she finds out I’ve been skipping meals, not to mention eating chocolate without taking insulin first.” 

 

Sirius screams internally as Remus begins throwing things into his bag. Reluctantly, he does the same, having no choice but to leave his unasked and unanswered questions lingering in the air between them.

 

—-

 

“I really don’t like parties, guys,” Remus is saying for the fifth time, sitting on his bed with his arms folded, watching his friends as they get ready to head out to the lake. The other three boys have been harassing Remus about accompanying for the better part of the afternoon.

 

“But you  _ do _ like us, though,” says James, looking in the mirror and purposely ruffling his already wild mop of natural hair. 

 

“Debatable,” says Remus, but he smiles as he says it. “Isn’t it against school rules to leave campus without permission?”

 

“Do we look like the type of people who have ever followed school rules in our lives?” asks Sirius, somewhat affronted. “Besides, it’s only a little against the rules. Live a little, Lupin!”

 

“Easy for you to say,” says Remus with an upswept eyebrow. “When you ‘live a little’ and get caught you get a slap on the wrist and a ‘don’t do it again.’ When I do it, I get my scholarship revoked and get sent back to my public school where 57% of the graduating student body has absolutely no A levels, and once a kid got stabbed in the carpark.” 

 

“Really? Did they die?” asks Peter.

 

Remus starts to answer, but gets cut off by James. “If half the upperclassmen are out there partying—and trust me, they will be—then they aren’t going to target  _ you _ specifically for being there. We’ll probably all have to go to a dull assembly on the importance of following rules and regulations. That’s what they did last year.”

 

“And that’s assuming we even get caught,” Sirius adds, carefully applying eyeliner. He steps back and blinks, seeing if it’s even. When he’s satisfied that it is he turns to look at Remus. “We’re gotten pretty good at dodging authority.”

 

“Besides, the teachers tend to turn a blind eye on stuff on holidays, so long as no one gets hurt,” adds James. “I think they figure that if they let us blow off a little steam here and there without reprimanding us that we’ll follow the rules the rest of the time.”

 

“They’re wrong of course,” says Sirius, putting a single, dangle earring in his ear. “But it’s nice for us.” 

 

Remus folds his arms tighter and frowns.

 

“There will be people there,” he says.

 

“Yes,” Sirius agrees.  “That’s kind of the point of a party.”

 

“I’m not a fan of people.”

 

“You’re a fan of Sirius,” says James. “And me and Pete,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, and Sirius decides he isn’t going to overthink that.

 

“Is Lily going?” asks Peter. James’ head immediately snaps over to Remus expectantly, and Remus rolls his eyes at him. 

 

“I thinks so,” he says. He gives James a look of utter exasperation as James punches the air in triumph. “She said she wasn’t that into the idea of being around a bunch of drunk people, and that she had a test on Monday she should study for, but I’m pretty sure she was just saying that to try and deter me from going. She’s always liked parties. And people. And social activities in general. She’s quite the social butterfly.” Remus furrows his brow. “Why do I like her?” he asks himself.

 

“So all your friends are going to be there,” says Sirius, hoping he doesn’t sound quite as desperately naggy as he feels. Somewhere inside him, a voice is reminding him that he’s supposed to be encouraging distance between himself and Remus, but that voice is being overshadowed by an even louder voice that is screaming, “HANG OUT WITH REMUS AT THE LAKE ALL NIGHT! SEE WHAT HE’S LIKE IN THIS NEW ENVIRONMENT! WHAT’S HE LIKE WHEN HE’S DRUNK?” 

 

“What else would you even do all night?” asks Peter. “And don’t say read. You’re  _ always _ reading. I don’t think it’s good for you.”

 

“Here here, Pete,” agrees James. “You heard the man, Remus, no more reading, it’s damaging your already precarious health. What you need is a nice, cool glass of lots of alcohol and some terrible pop remix music. Whaddya say?”

 

Remus looks to all three of them, taking in their identical, unrelenting expressions, before finally conceding defeat. He flops onto his back on his bed, and, groaning, let’s out the most reluctant, “Fiiiiiiine,” Sirius has ever heard.

 

His heart skips a beat. Remus is coming to the party with him. It feels like Christmas.

 

—-

 

“This was a mistake,” says Remus the second they get to the opposite side of the lake. They are fashionably late, and up ahead the lake is already full of students, from every house and every year, pouring themselves drinks, dancing, and chatting with each other. A large pile of wood and various other items that maybe shouldn’t be burned but who was fussed about that sort of thing, was sitting in the sand beside the lake, waiting to be set aflame. 

 

“We literally haven’t even reached the actual party yet,” says James.

 

“And it’s already a nightmare. Imagine how much worse it’ll be once we’re forced to socialize.” 

 

“Just stick by me and I’ll protect you,” says Sirius, and immediately blushes. Sirius doesn’t miss the smirk on James’ face, but Remus doesn’t seem bothered.

 

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “If anyone tries to talk to me you get to run interference. Tell them I’m a mute.”

 

“You realize half of these people have heard you talk in class, right?” says Sirius.

 

“Tell them I just became a mute this morning,” Remus amends, eyeing the crowd up ahead with wary disgust. 

 

“Oy, Remus!”

 

The four of them turn around to see Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas headed their way. They reach them. Lily tells the other girls to go on ahead, and then pulls Remus into a brief hug, before pulling back and giving him a stern look. “I didn’t think you’d come,” she says.

 

“You mean you hoped I wouldn’t,” Remus amends, and Lily shrugs but doesn’t deny it.

 

“Did these pisspots rope you into it?” she asks, gesturing but avoiding looking at the other three. James takes the opportunity to muck up his hair some more.

 

“Nah, I just finally wanted to see what this whole enigmatic, pubescent, party culture thing was all about,” says Remus nonchalantly, as if getting him to agree to come hadn’t been like pulling teeth that had been welded to the jaw. Sirius wonders if he’s playing it off for their benefit, not wanting to give Lily more ammunition, or if he secretly did want to come to the party all along. 

 

“Well, I guess you’re entitled to some normal teenage experiences,” she says.

 

“Thanks for the permission,” says Remus a bit defensively, and Lily frowns.

 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she says.

 

“I know, but I’m okay,” says Remus. At Lily’s skeptical look, he adds, “ _ Really _ . I’m fine. And I’ll stay out of trouble. I’ll keep the drinking to a minimum and I’ve got alarms set for every two hours to check my blood sugar. I’ll only break a few laws. I’ll keep all my clothes on. I  _ promise _ .” 

 

“Fine,” says Lily reluctantly. “Will you punch me if I ask you if your levels have been normal?”

 

“Oh Lils,” says Remus, putting an arm around Lily’s shoulder. “You know I only attack with words.” 

 

“That you do,” she agrees, resting her head briefly on Remus’ shoulder. She straightens back up. “Okay, I’m going to go catch up with the girls. Come find me later, though, okay?” Remus nods as she turns to leave.

 

“You look lovely tonight, Evans!” James calls out after her.

 

“Choke on a dick, Potter,” Lily replies, not turning around, and she lifts an elegantly executed flipping of the bird. James beams.

 

“Oh, Remus,” he says fondly, punching Remus in the arm and ignoring Remus as he mouths the word ‘ow’ and rubs his shoulder. “It’s so handy having you around.” 

 

“Is that why you’ve not ditched me, then?” asks Remus, with a knowing smirk. “You do realize she basically just told you to fuck off, right?”

 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t care, because since you moved in Lily’s talked to him more in two months than she did all of last year,” Sirius explains, putting a hand on Remus’ shoulder and leading him down the hill towards the gathered group of students ahead. Peter and James follow close behind.

 

They reach the party and are greeted with a few normal, “hellos,” and a scattering of, “ayyyyyy’s” from the handful of attendees who had clearly pregamed. Frank Longbottom comes to welcome them, carrying two cups filled with drinks of dubious color.

 

“Glad you made it,” he says cheerfully, a bit red in the cheeks suggesting he may have already had a drink or two as well. “I brought a couple drinks over. The drink table is over there.” He nods over his shoulder towards a folding table with bottles of cheap and poor quality liquor, and various mixers. Frank hands one cup to Sirius and the other to James. 

 

“Uh,” says Sirius looking at the muddy, green mixture in his cup. “What is this?”

 

“Beats me,” says Frank. “Jungle juice? I think that means it’s just a bunch of stuff mixed together.” 

 

Sirius frowns into his cup, shrugs, and takes a sip. His throat burns immediately and he coughs at the unexpected strength of the drink. “Yep,” he says with a strained voice. “That’ll work.”

 

“And what’s mine?” James says, holding out his own cup filled with a purple mixture.

 

“Oh, that,” says Frank. “Be careful with that. It’s Purple Drink, but Rosier brought it so it’s entirely possible he overdid it with the cough syrup. Anyway!” He claps his hands together. “Go crazy. I’ll be around if you need anything. I’m gonna try and see if I can get Alice to come dance with me.” He winks, and walks away.

 

“Here you go, Pete,” says James, handing Peter his questionable drink, who accepts it and starts sipping on it without hesitation. Peter, awkward and mousey as he is, knows how to go hard at a party.

 

“I’m gonna go see if any of the girls over there are drunk enough to hold a conversation with me,” he says without a hint of irony, eyeing a gaggle of girls playing beach volleyball by the water. He takes another big sip of his drink and heads off without another word.

 

“Hey, Potter, wanna join us?” a boy who Sirius recognizes as one of James’ teammates calls over to them. Some kids have set up some makeshift goals in the grass and are looking like they’re about to start a game of football. 

 

“You mind?” James asks Sirius and Remus. Remus shakes his head, and Sirius, perfectly pleased to have Remus to himself, does the same. James jogs over to go join the game. There’s an awkward moment of silence while Sirius and Remus stand in place, not sure what to do next.

 

“Drink table?” Sirius suggests, and Remus shrugs.

 

“You’re the one who knows how parties work, I’m following your lead,” he says. 

 

Sirius takes the initiative and leads them over to the drinks. He surveys the very-much-underage-student collection of bottles. “This will probably hold me for a while,” he tells Remus, holding up his amalgamation of liquors and mixers. “Want me to fix you something?”

 

“I guess,” says Remus. “Fair warning, though, I haven’t drank in ages, so I’m probably a total lightweight and you are not allowed to judge me for it.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” says Sirius, taking hold of the least questionable bottle of vodka and pouring a little bit more than a bit into a cup. He takes a jug of orange juice and fills the cup the rest of the way, and hands it to Remus, adding, “Lightweight just means you get to the fun part of drinking sooner than the rest of us.” 

 

Remus grins a little—lips favoring the right side, his two front teeth visible—and accepts his cocktail. He takes a big swig without an inkling of a wince, and Sirius is suddenly doubtful that Remus as inexperienced with drinking as he seems to want him to think.

 

They walk in companionable silence in the grass, passing by groups of kids playing drinking games, dancing, and gossiping. They get to the sand and Remus plops down onto the ground and brings his knees to his chest and looks out at the water. Sirius joins him.

 

It’s an uncharacteristically clear sky this evening, and the sun hasn’t started to set yet, but is low in the sky, reflecting off the lake, and there’s a certain calmness to it. Across the way they can see the forest, blocking their party from the view of the school. The air has an October briskness to it, and Sirius zips his jacket up a little higher as a gust of wind blows by.

 

“Why’s Lily always so worried about you?” asks Sirius, breaking the silence, surprised by his own forwardness. It’s too early to blame it on the alcohol.

 

Remus doesn’t turn his gaze from the lake, but Sirius can see his eyebrows knit together a little as he takes another long drink from his cocktail before answering.

 

“When we were kids, we shared a foster family, and the guy who fostered us was...not great. I was diagnosed with diabetes really young, so I actually went into foster care already having it, and sort of knowing how to deal with it, but I was too little to really be expected to be fully responsible over it, and our foster dad would...let’s just say, he would neglect it. Sometimes he forgot; sometimes he did it for punishment. And on more than one occasion I went hypo—that means my blood sugar got too low—and I had to be hospitalized. Eventually, the hospital visits started looking suspicious and suddenly my diabetic care got a bit better, but Lily never really forgot how sick I would get when it wasn’t managed.”

 

Sirius stares down into his cup, not sure what to make of Remus’ openness. Remus himself doesn’t seem upset, but he doesn’t seem content either. His face is carefully neutral, and he downs the rest of his drink as though it were a shot, and Sirius fights the impulse to tell him to be careful with his liquor, because he doesn’t want to be another person nagging him about his health.

 

“Lily got rehomed after a year, to the Evans family, who are good to her,” Remus continues after Sirius doesn’t say anything. “But we still went to the same primary school, and even after we went off to different schools later on we kept in touch, sometimes even visiting one another. I guess it would have been easy for us to drift apart, but that one year of shared trauma kept us close.”

 

“What about you? When did you get out?” asks Sirius, and Remus smiles grimly, turning to look at him for the first time. 

 

“I didn’t,” he says. “Or I hadn’t. Not until I got accepted here and got to go away for school.”  He turns back to the lake with a scowl. “I tried to get in as a first year student, but I was coming from such a shit public school and with such little money that no one believed I would make it here, and didn’t want to risk giving me the money to do it. It wasn’t until after I remained top of the class for two years straight, and resent in my application, begging for entrance that anyone at this school even bothered to give me the time of day. It was the Headmaster’s decision to let me in. He told me he saw potential in me, or something, I don’t know, and don’t really care. All I care about is staying here, passing my classes, and giving myself a shot at getting away from my shitty-ass life.” Remus picks up small pebbles from the ground and tosses them into the lake without seeming to notice he’s doing it. Sirius watches him do it for a minute.

 

“For what it’s worth,” he says finally. “I’m glad you’re here. For your benefit, and also mine.” 

 

Remus glances over at Sirius, and Sirius feels his cheeks heat up.  _ That _ was definitely the alcohol talking. Or, well, no. That was him talking, but it was the alcohol allowing him to say it. He sits his cup in the sand, deciding he needs to pace himself.

 

“Thanks,” Remus mutters, kicking out his legs and leaning back with his arms stretched out just behind his hips. 

 

“I had a friend in foster care once,” Sirius suddenly recalls. “When I was really little. He had a shitty foster dad, too. You’d think they’d screen better for that kind of thing; make sure the people doing it are actually decent.” He turns to find Remus giving him a funny look. “What is it?” he asks self-consciously, wracking his increasingly fuzzy brain to figure out if what he said was offensive. “Is saying ‘I had a foster care friend once’ kind of like saying ‘I had a black friend once?’” 

 

Remus lets out a small huff of laughter, but still eyes Sirius with an unreadable expression. “No,” he says. “That’s not...never mind. Forget it.” 

 

“Sorry if I said something wrong.”

 

“You didn’t.” 

 

Sirius opens his mouth to say something else, when he’s interrupted by a loud jingle. He startles as Remus, mumbling a small apology, reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone and switches off his alarm.

 

“It’s a reminder to check my blood sugar,” he says, sitting his phone down and reaching into his other pocket and pulling out a small device. “Feel free to let Lily know I did this,” he adds as he fiddles with the thing in his hand. “Don’t tell her I drew my blood without washing my hands first, though.” Sirius watches transfixed as Remus sets it up and pricks the side of his finger without batting an eye. Remus stares down at the device, waiting, until a number pops up. 

 

“Verdict?” asks Sirius.

 

“Still okay right now. I’ll check again in an hour or two to make sure I don’t go too low.”

 

“I don’t really know much about diabetes,” Sirius admits. “Don’t you have to like, take shots all the time?”

 

“Nah,” Remus says, and he grabs the hem of his jumper and lifts it up so Sirius can see the small device hooked to his waistband, and the cannula stuck in the skin on his belly. “This thing does it for me,” he explains. “And is quite the fashion statement. Personally, I think everyone should have tubes sticking out of their bodies. I’m hoping to eventually start a trend.”

 

Sirius laughs, and feels some tension he didn’t know was there leave his body. The sun is officially starting to set, and the horizon is a beautiful blend of reds, oranges, and purples. A few meters away, people start cheering loudly, as a clearly tipsy Frank lights the bonfire, with an equally tipsy Alice hanging onto his arm. 

 

“I guess parties aren’t so bad,” Remus says, watching with Sirius as the pile of wood and miscellaneous items goes up in flame. “I’ve always been a fan of arson.”

 

“Remind me to never give you matches,” says Sirius, laying down flat on his back, not even caring that there’s sand getting into his hair. To his surprise, Remus lays down too, and they both turn on their sides to face each other.

 

“Thank you for coming with,” Sirius says. 

 

“Thanks for convincing me,” Remus says. 

 

They grin at each other, faces a little closer than they maybe should be for two platonic friends, but Sirius isn’t about to mention it, and can always just blame the alcohol later. 

 

This, he thinks, is turning out to be a wonderful night. Definitely one for the history books, just as he suspected.

 

Of course, his bliss is right here, right now, in the present, and nothing lasts forever. The party is barely in full-swing, and the future is on it’s way. After all, they haven’t even gotten to the upcoming fist-fight in the water, or the midnight trample through the woods. Not to mention that thing with the reverse pick-pocketed blunt. 

 

Oh no. Sirius sits happily inside this moment, drunkenly counting freckles on the bridge of Remus’ nose, but the night has only just begun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo buddy. 
> 
> so.
> 
> that previous schedule thing didn't quite work out as planned, but if you don't go on my blog (why don't u go on my blog??) and haven't seen the updates, here's where we're at with that:
> 
> i am alternating sunday night updates between this story, and cogito ergo sum.
> 
> (what's cogito ergo sum? so glad you asked! it's my wolfstar/jily zombie au! zombie au? yes. zombie au. it's not your typical zombie story, either, so go give it a shot. /end shameless self-endorsement.)
> 
> the past two sundays were duds bc i was sick one week, and out of town the next, but H O P E F U L L Y this finally works, and so next week will be cogito ergo sum, and then the 27th will be the next update for this story. i mentioned on my blog, tho, that cogito ergo sum takes a lot more mental effort to write bc it's a more complicated plot, so i hold the right to update everything's connected instead if my zombie shit just ain't working that week.
> 
> want up-to-date updates on posting schedules? want to know if things are postponed? come check out severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com, under the tag "everything's connected." and then check out the rest of it bc honestly? im a comedic genius.
> 
> byeeee!


	6. That Thing with the Reverse Pick-Pocketed Blunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> snape is a fuckboi. remus can throw a punch. sometimes parties end in bloodshed. oh yeah, and that thing with the reverse pick-pocketed blunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up, if you are a snape apologist, you are gonna not like this chapter. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Head in the sand, facing Remus, Sirius can make out all the various hues of green in his eyes, even with the light dimming from the setting sun, the flames from the bonfire dancing in his irises. They are invading each other’s personal space, but neither one of them seems to mind, which is unnerving. All Sirius would have to do is inch forward juuuust a tad, and his mouth would be right in reach to—

 

“It’s getting cold,” says Remus abruptly, pushing himself up and brushing sand off his cheek. “Let’s go sit by the fire.”

 

With an internal sigh, Sirius’ rational side says, “It’s all for the best,” meanwhile his loud and impulsive side punches a wall. He gets to his feet. 

 

“Er, I might need a hand,” says Remus, and Sirius, all too glad to help, reaches down and pulls Remus up. Once standing, Remus stumbles right into Sirius, and Sirius catches him in his arms, keeping him steady, while being painfully aware of their chests brushing against each other.

 

“Careful,” he says, thanking any deity that may exist for managing to not sound as breathless as he feels. 

 

“Yeah, sorry,” Remus says, pulling away and testing his balance. “I might be a little drunker than I thought.”

 

“Probably because you effectively straight up chugged the equivalent of three shots of vodka,” Sirius reprimands with a hint of amusement, while Remus watches the ground as though it is going to slip out from under him and start saying rude things about his mother.

 

“Go big or go home, isn’t that the idiom the kids are using? Or is that YOLO?”

 

“I think YOLO has come and gone,” says Sirius.

 

“Party hard, then.”

 

“What would Lily say?” Sirius teases.

 

“Lily will hear nothing about this,” says Remus, starting towards the bonfire, using Sirius’ elbow for balance. Pleased, Sirius guides him to where much of the party has already gathered.

 

“Oh look,” says Sirius once they’re close, grinning wickedly, catching a glimpse of deep red hair up ahead. “There’s Lily right there!” Remus groans.

 

“Be honest,” he says. “How wasted do I look?”

 

“The fact that you can barely stay upright is a bit of a giveaway, but once you sit down I think you can pull it off as just casual tipsiness. You’re a surprisingly eloquent drunk.”

 

“I once nearly drank myself to death with a bottle of tequila, and allegedly went on a forty five minute rant on the historical inaccuracies  in the movie  _ 300 _ .”

 

“Allegedly?”

 

“Yeah, I blacked out big time. I think I lost that entire weekend. Not one of my better health choices.”

 

“I thought you didn’t go to parties.”

 

“I don’t. It was book club,” and he says it so earnestly that Sirius can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Quick,” Remus says. “Before she notices, make it seem like I’m holding your arm because you’re hot and I’m just being overly touchy. Just look vaguely annoyed and she’ll buy it; I always get handsy when I’m drinking, even a little.”

 

Sirius tries and fails to process whether or not Remus just called him hot, and tries to contort his face into annoyance, which is difficult when all he is feeling is shameful butterfly stomach.

 

“Hey Lils,” says Remus once they’re in earshot, in an impressive impression of a sober person. Lily, who's sitting contentedly on a large rock, looks behind her and grins.

 

“‘Lo Remus,” she says, shooting a knowing glance at the way Remus is hanging off of Sirius. Sirius ignores it and helps Remus down into the sand, trying to make it inconspicuous that Remus more or less topples to the ground. Lily, who looks a few drinks in herself, doesn’t seem too concerned. Sirius takes a few deep breathes of composure, before plopping down beside Remus. The heat from the fire warms his cheeks, which he hadn’t even realized had been numbing in the mid-autumn chill. 

 

“What have you been up to?” asks Remus, a bit more composed now that he doesn’t have to focus on maintaining balance. 

 

“Just enjoying the night,” says Lily simply. “I made the rounds, played a few games of Never-Have-I-Ever, and decided to go take some time by myself.” 

 

“Hope we aren’t imposing,” says Sirius, and Lily waves a dismissive hand.

 

“I welcome the company,” she says, and now Sirius is certain she’s drunk, because he can’t recall in recent memory, a time when Lily said something to him that remotely resembled  _ pleasant _ . 

 

“Hello my dears,” comes James’ voice from behind. Sirius feels a hard clap of a hand on his shoulder, and looks up to see a sandy and smiley James. 

 

James is likely the least drunk out of all of them—he actually cares about the functionality of his liver, and the rest of his body, for that matter—but he loves any chance he gets to let out some of his pent up energy without repercussion. He usually takes medication to control it, but he always says it just makes him dull. To him, he isn’t too fast-paced; the world is just too slow. (Sirius loves James whether he’s running at 100, or if he’s in a medicated calm, but he sometimes has to make him concede the point that before he had it managed, James nearly flunked out of primary school.)

 

James throws himself onto the ground and picks up a giant handful of sand and begins filtering it into one hand, and then the other, over and over without much notice. “The fire makes your hair look like magic, Evans,” he says happily, and when Lily rolls her eyes, there’s an actual smile on her face, and Sirius decides that she must be  _ extraordinarily _ drunk. 

 

“James is such a romantic,” Remus muses wistfully. “You should give him a chance, Lils, you like that sort of shit right? I gave him snogging lessons, too, and you know how good I am at snogging.”

 

Drunk Remus, Sirius realizes, has no filter, and it’s slightly mortifying, but James beams.

 

“Hear that, Evans? A ringing endorsement from your favorite person and everything. What more could you need?” 

 

“Sorry,” she says without her usual bite. “I’m in a relationship with the giant squid that lives in the lake, and he’s ten times the romantic you’ll ever be.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. She takes one out and holds the pack out to the three of them. Sirius and Remus both accept. “Potter?” she asks.

 

“Nah, no thanks,” says James.

 

“See,” she says with faux melancholy, lighting her cigarette and passing the lighter to Remus. “You’re much too healthy for me. We’d never work out.” She grins at him, and Sirius has a perplexing feeling that she might actually be  _ flirting _ with James Potter. The shame she will feel tomorrow will be delightful, he thinks.

 

“Where’s Peter?” asks Remus, tossing the lighter to Sirius after fumbling with it for a minute with his vodka-fueled dexterity, or lack thereof.

 

James nods his head towards the grass up the hill a ways, and they follow his gesture to where Peter is lip-locked in what appears to be a particularly wet makeout session with a pimply, yet otherwise decent looking girl Sirius thinks is a Gryffindor in the year below them.

 

“Godspeed,” says Remus, and Lily raises her glass in salute. 

 

“Excuse me?” The four of them turn to see a third year SLytherin student by the name of Severus Snape hovering over them.

 

“What the Hell do you want?” asks Sirius, and James nods, scowling, cheerful demeanor gone just like that. Lily furrows her brow, and Remus keeps his face neutral, if not a bit curious.

 

Here’s the thing: The feud between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins is a well-known tradition, based in years of intense fucking-with-each-other history, but it is, at the end of the day, moderately harmless. The Slytherins view the Gryffindors as pompous, arrogant assholes with God complexes, and the Gryffindors view the Slytherins as prejudiced traditionalists with morals they dredged up from the polluted and muddy depths of the sea, but these are just generalizations—rarely are the attacks against individuals, so much as the houses as a whole, but Severus Snape is the exception. Self-righteous, self-victimized, and just downright  _ annoying _ , James and Sirius don’t just dislike Snape, but  _ loathe _ him with every fiber of their being, and Peter goes along with it, because that’s what Peter does.

 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” says Snape snootily, eyeing Sirius and James as though they were particularly slimy bugs. Sirius and James mirror the same look right back. He turns to Lily, and says, “I couldn’t help but to notice you’re here all by yourself.” 

 

“I am very clearly not,” Lily says, her own drunken pleasantness also melting away just as quickly as James’. Rumor has it that, once upon a time, Lily and Snape had been friends, up until they weren’t. The common understanding was that Snape began hanging out with a bunch of bigoted pricks, and began buying into their ‘woe-is-me, women won’t fuck me, also there is no such thing as white male privilege,’ rhetoric. Once he became a self-proclaimed member of the ‘meninist movement,’ Lily had had enough.

 

Unfortunately for Lily, however, Snape had not had enough of her.

 

“I figured we weren’t counting... _ those _ three,” Snape says with his weird suspended sentences that drives Sirius so far up the wall he was touching the ceiling. Beside him, Remus’ neutrality begins to shift as he tenses, just a little.

 

“I was actually having a pleasant conversation with these three,” Lily says politely, but with an underlying anger that Sirius is grateful he’s not the target of for once.

 

“Apologies, m’lady,” says Snape, and Sirius hears both Remus and James audibly gag. He glances at the boys and adds, “I guess I just figured someone of your beauty and intellectual caliber would surround yourself with better...company.” 

 

“I hope you don’t mean yourself,” says Sirius. Snape just sneers, turning back to Lily.

 

“Care for a dance?” he asks her. 

 

“I’ll pass,” says Lily with incredible patience.

 

“Yeah, she’s in a relationship with a giant squid, which I personally think is infinitely preferable to you, Snivellus,” says James. 

 

“No need for name calling,” Lily mutters, but Sirius sees the corner of her lip quip up for a split second.

 

“C’mon,” says Snape, undeterred. “One dance.”

 

“No thank you,” Lily says, more forcefully.

 

“What’ve you got to lose?” 

 

“Her dignity?” says Sirius, just as James says, “Dude, really?” 

 

“She said no,” adds Remus, in a quiet, charged tone. Snape looks at him.

 

“I already said that this conversation doesn’t...concern you.”

 

“And she’s already said that she has no desire to dance with you, so let it go,” says Sirius.

 

“I’m going to go get another drink,” says Lily, putting her cigarette out in the sand, and Remus stands with her, still a little unsteady on his feet, but looking purposeful. 

 

“I’ll go with you,” he says flatly, and Sirius sees for the first time that Remus is just as protective over Lily as she is over him.

 

“Hey, wait,” says Snape. He reaches out and grabs Lily by the wrist and tugs her hard enough that she stumbles. James and Sirius are on their feet immediately, and Remus looks murderous.

 

“Dude,  _ leave her alone, _ ” Sirius says. 

 

“Give it a chance. You’ll have a good time with me. Don’t tell me you’d rather stay here with... _ this _ lot.”

 

Lily tears her arm away. “Let’s get something straight,” she says so coolly that Sirius is surprised the bonfire doesn’t turn to ice. “I’m not refusing to go dance with you because I prefer this lot. Whether or not I prefer this lot has nothing to do with this. I’m saying no because you spend all your time with a bunch of arseholes who constantly catcall me in the hallways, and frankly, I don’t like them, and I don’t like you. So listen to me when I say, our friendship ended a long time ago, and if you  _ ever _ touch me again, I will kick you  _ straight _ in the gnads.” 

 

Snape’s face morphs into a terrible scowl. “I asked you politely. You don’t have any reason to not at least give me a chance. I’m a perfectly nice guy,” he practically spits at her. “You don’t have to be such a cunt.” 

 

It happens before Sirius can process it. Somewhere between Lily’s gasp and James and Sirius’ outcries, Remus has slipped past them, balled up his fist, and punched Snape right in the face, so hard he falls to the ground, blood pouring from his nose.

 

“Remus!” Lily shrieks, hands over her mouth. “What the Hell happened to only attacking with words?!” 

 

“Do not,  _ ever _ , call Lily Evans that again,” Remus says, staring down at Snape with such fury that he outdoes both Lily and McGonagall. 

 

They have begun to draw attention to themselves. A crowd has gathered, staring and murmuring amongst themselves. A couple people are laughing at Snape nursing his bloody nose in the sand, while others are gaping at Remus, the quiet boy who wears jumpers, as though not quite believing he is even capable of throwing a punch.

 

“Oi!” yells a bulky Slytherin boy breaking through the crowd. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

 

James steps in front of Remus and yells back, “Nothing this arsehole doesn’t deserve!” 

 

“Say that again!” says a Slytherin girl.

 

“You better keep your hands off them, I heard what your boy called Lily,” says Kingsley Shacklebolt, a muscular and frankly terrifying Gryffindor the year ahead of them. 

 

Gryffindors and Slytherins began gathering together, stepping away from the fire, coming face to face in the wet sand where the lake is lapping up onto shore. James is among them, and Peter has ripped his tongue out of his Gryffindor girl and is rushing to help him. Sirius is about to go join, when Lily grabs him by the hem of his jacket. He looks at her.

 

“Get Remus out of here,” she says to him.

 

“What?” says Remus, who is in the process of kicking sand at Snape, who is one-handedly trying to push him away.

 

“If any of the teachers show up, all of this prick’s friends are going to tell them you started the fight, and the administration does not take violence well. You can’t be found at the scene of the crime.”

 

“Fine, but Sirius doesn’t have to go with me,” he argues.

 

“Yes he does. Do you think I’m dumb, I know you’re plastered. Besides, I’m more than certain that he knows a way back to the grounds that assures you won’t get caught.” She turns to Sirius. “You make sure he gets back to your dorm, and if anyone asks, he’s been tucked in bed this whole night.”

 

Sirius, a bit disappointed not to be joining in on the rather impressive fist fight happening in the water, nods. He can, and probably will, punch Slytherins later, but right now he wants to save Remus from trouble. He tugs at his elbow, and says, “Come on, let’s go.” 

 

“What are you going to do?” Remus calls over to Lily as Sirius starts to drag him away.

 

“What do you think?” Lily calls back, and she turns and runs towards the fight. 

 

Remus frowns in her direction, muttering, “Typical,” between finally acquiescing to Sirius’ tugging, and the two of them break into a run. 

 

They break through the crowd of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and neutral Gryffindor and Slytherin parties, and Remus collides right into Barty Crouch Jr. 

 

Barty snarls at Remus, and grabs onto Remus’ coat and shoves him backwards. Sirius catches him before he falls, and snaps at Barty, “Keep your hands to yourself.”

 

“Tell that to your boyfriend,” Barty snarls. “You’ll regret fucking with us,” he tells Remus.

 

“Yes, I am very frightened by a bunch of racist losers whose biggest accomplishments are dissertation length Reddit rants about the Women’s Rights Movement,” says Remus, and Sirius pulls Remus out of the way as Barty lunges at him.

 

“Let’s not give him more reason to murder us, yeah?” he says to Remus, and Remus relents, but not before throwing a tremendously nasty look at Barty.

 

They race up the hill, the sounds of yelling, fists colliding with bone, and peppy pop music ringing in the distance. 

 

“It’s faster if we cut through the forest,” Sirius says, and Remus nods. The two of them duck under some brush along the treeline, and stumble through the forest.

 

The forest is pitch black, the only light coming from the moon and stars filtering in through the branches. They slow their run down to a hesitant jog, jumping over thick roots poking up from the ground, rocks, and uneven pathways. The party far behind them, the only noises are their own breaths, the sounds of twigs snapping beneath their feet, and the unnerving sounds of various wildlife coming awake in the night.

 

“Just how many things in this forest want to eat us?” asks Remus. Eyes beginning to adjust, Sirius watches as Remus walks into a spiderweb and brushes it off while sputtering.

 

“I think everything in here is pretty harmless,” he says, and just as the words leave his mouth, a long, unmistakable wolf howl comes from somewhere deep amidst the trees. Remus pauses to give Sirius a look, and Sirius shrugs. “I said pretty harmless, not totally harmless,” he says, and Remus sighs. 

 

“This is why,” says Remus, narrowly avoiding getting a low hanging tree branch to the face. “I don’t like parties.” 

 

“To be fair, most of our parties don’t usually end in bloodshed,” Sirius points out. Their jog has wound down into a meandering walk, their chests heaving, and sweat gathering on their skin despite the October chill. They’re both silent for a minute, until Sirius begins cutting up into laughter.

 

“What?” asks Remus, frowning.

 

“Dude, the way you just—” he mimics Remus by making a fist and punching the air, “— _ right _ in his stupid face.” 

 

“Lily’s right, though, I should have refrained myself.”

 

“Nah, man,” says Sirius with a shit-eating-grin. “It was fantastic.”

 

Remus shrugs, and after a moment, breaks into a smile himself.

 

“It did feel pretty good,” he admits.

 

“I don’t doubt it. I’m jealous.”

 

“I just hope I didn’t break his nose.”

 

“I do.”

 

“You’re terrible.”

 

“Hey, you’re the one who hit him. How’d you learn to throw a punch like that, anyway?”

 

“When you’re getting the shit beat out of you on the regular you tend to pick up some defenses,” says Remus easily.

 

“Oh,” says Sirius awkwardly. “Sorry, I forgot.” But Remus waves his hand.

 

“No no, don’t do that, I’m sorry. I’m still a little drunk, and I’m not always great at censoring myself when I’ve been drinking.”

 

Sirius lets out a bark of laughter. “You don’t say? ‘I gave James snogging lessons!’ Good thing you didn’t tell the whole story, you dork.”

 

“What, you mean you weren’t so dazzled by my snogging skills that you want the whole world to know about them?”

 

Sirius is glad for the darkness, because he’s sure he’s blushing brilliantly. “Don’t get me wrong, that certainly was some kiss,” he says, which is not a lie.

 

“Pshaw,” says Remus with a sarcastic air of pretension. “Tell me, was that or was that not  _ the best _ snog you’ve ever had.”

 

“You’re awfully sure of yourself. Careful, or you might start sounding like Lockhart.” 

 

“You didn’t answer the question.”

 

“No,” says Sirius evasively. “No I didn’t, did I?” Sirius doesn’t have to look at Remus to feel the smugness radiating off of him. “Shut up.” 

 

“I didn’t say anything,” says Remus.

 

“You didn’t have to, I heard you anyway. Look,” he points up ahead, glad to be rid of that particular conversation. “Past the trees over there.”

 

Remus squints. “Is that the grounds?” 

 

“Yeah. Come on, let’s hurry.” Sirius takes Remus by the arm again, less because he has to and more because he has an excuse to, and pulls him along. “I know a way around that will keep us out of view of Filch, but we’ve taken our sweet time in here. We should get back to the dormitory  before the fight ends back at the lake and the professors come knocking.”

 

And so they’re running again. Sirius takes Remus through a small, cramped pathway between a greenhouse and the shed where the Gamekeeper keeps his tools. They get to Gryffindor hall, and go around the back of the building, where Sirius jumps up to pull down the fire escape.

 

“After you,” he tells a wary looking Remus. They climb up the ladder, and instead of breaking in through one of the open windows like normal kids who’ve snuck out past curfew, Sirius shows Remus how to climb up onto the roof, by placing one foot on a brick that’s sticking out too far, putting the other one up on the metal railing of the fire escape balcony, and pulling himself up by the cement ledge above. Remus lets out a string of curse words as he climbs, and tells Sirius, as he gives him his hand to have him pull him the rest of the way up, that if he ever has to scale the side of a building to avoid trouble again, to just let him take his chances on the ground.

 

They go down through the Staircase to Nowhere, and are officially in the clear when they swing open the door to their room and head inside.

 

Sirius slumps against the wall with a sigh of relief, as Remus wipes beads of sweat from his brow, shaking his head and grinning.

 

“That was ridiculous,” he says.

 

“Hey, you’re the one who threw the first punch,” says Sirius, reaching down to unlace his boots. 

 

“He called Lily a cunt, what else was I supposed to do?” Remus asks, pulling his hooded jacket up over his head. As he does so, something falls out of his pocket and onto the floor, and he freezes. So does Sirius.

 

“Um,” Sirius says. “Is that what I think it is?”

 

“Yes. Yes it is,” Remus says, staring at the blunt on their floor like it’s a bomb about to go off.

 

“I take it by the look on your face that it’s not yours.”

 

“No. No it is not.”

 

“Right, well, then that begs the question of how a blunt ended up in your pocket then, doesn’t it?”

 

They both frown at the blunt, wracking their brains. They turn to each other in unison with knowing glances, coming to the same conclusion at once.

 

“Barty,” says Sirius. “That dickhead.”

 

“He must have slipped it in my jacket when he shoved me,” says Remus.

 

“The fucker reverse pick-pocketed you. But why?”

 

“For punching Snape?”

 

“Well, yeah, but what good would it do for him to give away his weed—aw shit. I bet you ten quid he followed right behind us to the grounds—”

 

“—To go and report me,” Remus finishes for him. “The fucker. He’s trying to get me in trouble.”

 

“Not just in trouble,” Sirius says warily. “Teachers will turn a blind eye on alcohol as long as it’s mostly kept out of sight, but they are pretty strict about anything else. That’s why if we smoke, it’s always off campus. Drug possession can be grounds for expulsion.”

 

“Oh that’s just lovely,” says Remus, gripping his hair in his fists. “We’ve got to hide it, then; put it somewhere no one would think to look.”

 

“Not in here. It’s all in the fine print on those dumb papers they make you and your parents sign at the beginning of the year. If they have any reason to suspect you may be keeping anything illegal on you, they can do random searches of your room.” 

 

“Fantastic. The fuck do we do with it then?”

 

“We could take it to the Staircase. Or just throw it off the roof. Anything, really, we just need to get it out of here before—”

 

A knock comes at the door.

 

“This is Professor McGonagall,” comes McGonagall’s voice from the hallway. Sirius swallows hard while Remus blanches. 

 

“How can we help you, ma’am?” Sirius calls out, thinking fast.

 

“I’m afraid there have been some unsettling accusations made against a member of your dorm room, which are forcing me to perform a random bedroom check. Open the door, please, preferably before I have to do it myself.”

 

“Just a moment, ma’am,” says Remus, voice a bit high. He looks, wide-eyed, at Sirius, mouthing, ‘What do we do?’

 

“You’ve got exactly sixty seconds to make yourselves decent before I come in,” says McGonagall.

 

Sirius’ eyes fall to the blunt lying so very much in the open on the floor. He considers stuffing it in his jacket, but he knows that McGonagall will almost certainly make them both turn out all their pockets. He can think of only one other solution.

 

He closes his eyes for a quick second and takes a breath. He then focuses all his mental energy on the blunt. He’s worried he won’t be able to manage it in such a high pressure situation, but he tries to quell his anxiety, because worrying certainly won’t make it easier. 

 

‘I am the room, I am the air, I am the goddamned blunt on the floor,’ he tells himself frantically, over and over, praying he can get it to move. 

 

To his surprise, not only does the blunt move, but it all but flies to the ceiling, as though it had been yanked up by a rope.

 

That doesn’t make sense, thinks Sirius, that shouldn’t have been way harder to do. Hell, even in the best circumstances, he’s never made an object move that fast.

 

Consciously keeping a part of his mind fixed on making sure the blunt stays well above them, Sirius meets Remus’ eye. Remus’ face mirrors Sirius’ exact feeling, which also doesn’t make sense. Remus should look shocked, or at least somewhat taken aback, by witnessing telekinesis right before his eyes, but that’s not his expression at all. Instead, he looks confused. And not the type of confusion someone would have if they’d just witnessed a defiance of physical law for the first time, but a look of confusion that matches Sirius’ own confusion. A confusion that says, “That shouldn’t have been that easy to do.” 

 

Realization hits Sirius like a ton of bricks. It was easy to do because he didn’t do it alone. Remus had helped him, which meant only one thing:  _ Remus can do magic too _ .

 

Remus appears to be having a similar dilemma, his mouth open slightly, as though searching for something to say, but not finding anything that appropriately conveys the feelings one has when they just found out their good friend is harboring the same secret as you.

 

As it turns out, whatever Remus was going to eventually say doesn’t matter. The door swings open, and there is McGonagall standing in the threshold, her arms crossed and her face severe.

 

Both Sirius and Remus, so focused on their mutual discovery, startle, and in the process, lose their concentration at the same time.

 

The strings tying them to the Universe come undone, and the blunt on the ceiling comes falling down until it hits the floor with a soft ‘plop!’, landing between the two of them and McGonagall, writing out the boys’ epitaph with brown rolling paper.

 

“Well,” says McGonagall, her cheeks sucked in and her lips pursed. “Who wants to start explaining first?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you get an early update because i wanted to finish this scene instead of working on cogito ergo sum. putting my blog title in my end notes has actually become a literal compulsion at this point, so severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com. new chapter in two weeks at most. tyvm for reading. au revoir!


	7. Coincidences and Other Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sirius tells some lies, james has a black eye, and sirius thinks he makes an important discovery, but does he really? read to find out!

The anxiety exuding from Remus as the two of them are led to McGonagall’s office is palpable. Sirius can only imagine what’s going through his mind. ‘Will I be expelled? Do I have to go back to  _ him _ ?’ Sirius can’t help but feel somewhat responsible, even though he knows he shouldn’t. But didn’t he insist on Remus coming to the party? And none of this would have happened if Remus had just stayed in bed reading like he had wanted to…

 

“In,” says McGonagall, holding her door open, and they stalk inside with their heads bowed.

 

Sirius is more than familiar with the interior of McGonagall’s office, having spent a good portion of his academic career inside it. It’s exactly how you would expect it to be—tidy and proper. She has no artwork on her walls, but has two different bookshelves that are overflowing with books she teaches and books she reads for pleasure. Her desk is large and oak, and must have cost some money. Everything atop it is arranged just so, with no excess clutter. The only thing that seems out of place are the two framed pictures sat on either corner of the desk, which are of her cats. 

 

McGonagall sits in the large chair behind the desk, and Remus and Sirius follow suit by pulling out and sitting in the hard, metal chairs opposite of her. Her cheeks are hollowed, as though she were sucking on a particularly tart sweet.

 

She reaches into her pocket, pulls out her hand, and drops the offending object onto the desk between them. She then sits back, fingers laced together, wrists resting on the edge. She raises an eyebrow, as though saying, “Here is Exhibit A. What have you got in defense?”

 

But neither Sirius or Remus offers anything up. Sirius’ lips are sealed because he has learned from prior experience that it’s better to first feel out what all McGonagall knows about a situation before blabbering about and accidentally indicting yourself for something she didn’t even know you were guilty of. As for Remus, Sirius has the sinking suspicion that fear has sealed his lips shut.

 

“I’m waiting for an explanation,” McGonagall says once the silence has drawn out to a nice and lengthy distance. 

 

Sirius is thinking fast. The truth is, of course, neither of them are guilty of the crime they’re being accused of, but it’s not as simple as denying responsibility. “It’s not ours,” is going to be met with, “Well, then whom’s is it?” And from there they will bury themselves deeper and deeper into the sand. “Barty slipped it in Remus’ pocket. Why did he do that? Well, he was angry. About what? He was mad about Snape. What happened to Snape? Well, you see, Remus broke his nose.”

 

No, they will need to be more strategic than that.

 

“Mr. Lupin,” says McGonagall, and Remus startles in his seat.

 

“Ma’am?” he all but croaks.

 

“A student came to me and told me that you were the one in possession of this—” She gestures with a look of disgust at the blunt. “ _ —this object _ . I would hope that I need not remind you that the possession of illicit substances of any kind are absolutely forbidden on school grounds, yes?”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” says Remus.

 

“And I shouldn’t have to tell you that we take these kinds of matters  _ very _ seriously, yes?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“In that case, would you like to provide me with an explanation as to  _ why _ this object was in your possession?”

 

“Er,” says Remus, clearly following the same incriminating thread of thought Sirius is thinking. “Er, well, I—” he starts to say, when he’s cut off by a loud jingle coming from his pocket. He jumps at the sound, fumbles with getting into his pocket, and pulls out his phone, all while McGonagall sits perfectly still and ever severe. 

 

“Mr. Lupin, if you would be so kind as to turn that phone off—” says McGonagall, but Remus is already saying,

 

“Sorry, ma’am, I apologize. It’s not a phone call. It’s an alarm to remind me to take my blood sugar. Would you mind so terribly if I…” He twists his face into something sheepish looking, and McGonagall sighs, but gestures, with an irritated air about her, for Remus to go ahead.

 

Remus awkwardly pricks his hand, reading his numbers, and apologizing under his breath as he fiddles with his insulin pump to correct any imbalances. Sirius takes this time to do some quick thinking.

 

Possession of illegal drugs doesn’t mean immediate expulsion—it means that the student will be given a trial of sorts; a kind of gathering of school board members who will allow you to present your case before deciding if you get to stay, or if you’re going to be thrown bodily out the door.

 

If he had to, would Remus win his case? Sirius imagines he would, knowing that the school board tends to recognize how some of the Slytherin’s can be particularly nasty when they want to, and considering Remus’ academic standing, but could he really take the risk? It would go on his record regardless, and what if he weren’t to win? Then everything he’s worked towards would be null and void, and from what he’s said, he’s got nothing good waiting for him back home if he fails.

 

Sirius decides right then that he can’t allow that. 

 

“The marijuana isn’t Remus’, Ms. McGonagall, it’s mine.” 

 

Remus, who has his shirt partially lifted as he messes with his insulin, turns to him with a look of incredulity, while McGonagall merely raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“If that’s so, Mr. Black, then why would another student blame Mr. Lupin?” she asks.

 

“Beats me, ma’am. Maybe they thought I would be too used to getting in trouble that they’d get back at me by making me feel guilty for getting someone else in trouble.” He meets Remus’ eye, trying to telepathically beg him not to say anything to contradict him. “But I assure you, ma’am, Remus has nothing to do with it.”

 

“I see,” says McGonagall, and Sirius hates how unreadable her tone is. “Care to tell me where you came about obtaining this illicit substance?”

 

“Er, the party,” Sirius says, thinking fast. “The one by the lake. I got it there. I don’t know who had it before, I just found it.”

 

“You just found a marijuana cigarette?” McGonagall says doubtfully. Sirius, stuck with the story now, just nods. “I see. I should mention that there were other accusations made in addition to the one I brought you in for. Do either of you know anything about that?”

 

Sirius knows she’s referring to Snape lying in a pool of his own blood in the sand. Still a pleasant image, but not a particularly convenient reality.

 

“I heard there was an incident involving a Slytherin boy,” says Sirius, as cryptically as he dares. McGonagall’s eyes narrow.

 

“Yes,” she says. “An  _ incident _ .” She looks between the boys, her gaze boring into them, and Sirius waits for her to call him out on his obvious lies, but instead she clicks her tongue a couple times, and says, “Well, Mr. Black, if what you have told me is true, then you must know that the gravity of the situation is a considerable amount more severe than any of your previous shenanigans.” 

 

“Yes, ma’am, I know.”

 

“Possession of drugs on campus is an expulsory offense.”

 

“Yes, ma’am, I know.”

 

“Very well.” She gets to her feet. “You will, of course, have an opportunity to plead your case. A tribunal will be held before any decisions are made. You will be given the date within the next few days, once I’ve conferred with the other teachers. You are both dismissed.”

 

Both Sirius and Remus startle a little at the sudden dismissal. Not daring to say anything else, they push themselves out of their uncomfortable seats and amble towards the door.

 

“Oh, and Mr. Black?” McGonagall says, and they both turn to look at her. “You understand that honesty is of utmost importance when it comes to pleading your case?” She speaks to Sirius, but watches Remus as she says it. Beside him, Remus audibly gulps, and Sirius wants to elbow him in the ribs.

 

Instead, he just mutters one last, “Yes, ma’am,” and takes Remus by the elbow, leading him out the door.

 

—-

 

“What the fuck was that?” asks Remus the second they get back inside their dorm, rounding on Sirius.

 

“What the fuck was what?” asks Sirius, scrubbing his face with his hands, suddenly exhausted. He drops his arms to his sides and realizes James and Peter are both back, and are now staring at them quizzically. 

 

“Nice shiner,” Sirius says to James. He’s got a deeply purple bruise forming under his left eye. On his bed, Peter has a sandwich bag full of ice pressed against his ear. Sirius is jealous, thinking he would have much preferred beating on Slytherins than having to lie to McGonagall’s face.

 

“Where’ve you guys been?” asks James, turning back to the mirror he’s standing at and begins spreading some kind of ointment on his eye.

 

“McGonagall’s,” Sirius says, and this catches James’ interest immediately.

 

“You got caught?” he asks, looking between him and Remus.

 

“Er, it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Sirius says.

 

“Yeah, and we need to talk about how much more ‘complicated’ it is,” Remus interjects. He takes Sirius by the arm, and swings the door open. “Privately,” he adds.

 

“Can’t we just talk about it here?” asks Sirius, quite done with all the running about this evening. He’s entirely sobered up by now, and he’s developed an impressive headache in place of the booze.

 

“You can fill them in later, but I’ve got a feeling I’m going to yell, and I don’t want to do that here,” says Remus matter-of-factly, and tugs Sirius along so that he has no choice. Sirius casts James and Peter, still looking quite lost, an apologetic glance.

 

“Where’re we going?” asks Sirius as Remus drops his elbow once they’re in the hallway.

 

“Where do you think?” asks Remus, and he walks purposefully towards the Staircase.

 

Out on the roof it’s even colder now, and Sirius shivers, having left his jacket in the dorm. Remus doesn’t seem much better off, rubbing his arms, trying to warm his skin with the friction. 

 

“It’s witch’s tits cold out here, Remus, what are we doing?”

 

“Why did you lie to McGonagall?” Remus snaps. 

 

“Why are you mad that I did?” asks Sirius, aghast. 

 

“Because now you’re going to get in trouble! Now you’re facing expulsion!” 

 

“I’m not that fussed,” says Sirius, and at Remus’ unamused expression, he adds, “I mean it. Even without my...well, even without Mummy and Daddy’s help, I doubt they would expel me over this. We just gotta come up with a plausible story that places blame where blame is due, without incriminating you.” 

 

“Why are you so concerned about protecting me?” asks Remus.

 

“Because I like you?” says Sirius, confused. “Because you’re my friend? Don’t tell me you’d rather be the one with your head on the chopping block.”

 

“Of course I don’t want to face expulsion, but that doesn’t mean I want to carry the guilt of having gotten you in trouble. If you remember correctly, I may not have been guilty of the pot, but I  _ did _ incite a goddamn riot by the lake, and that was  _ my _ doing, not yours.”

 

“You punched one dude, and he deserved it. That’s the only thing you did. Anything else that happened was everyone else’s own decision. Besides, I think you’ve gotten enough undue punishment in your life, don’t you think?”

 

Remus gapes at him. 

 

“Is  _ that _ what this is about?” asks Remus. “‘Oh, poor, abused Remus must need protection.’ Fuck you Sirius, it’s one thing if Lily does it, but I don’t need you to mummy me. A short, drunken conversation while getting sand all over ourselves doesn’t exactly amount to you being an expert on my life story. I can handle myself, and that includes taking responsibility for my own actions.”

 

“Oh, I know some of how you’re able to handle yourself, alright,” says Sirius cryptically, and Remus furrows his brow.

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks haughtily. In response, Sirius locates a twig lying at Remus’ feet, and finds the thread that connects himself to it. With a fierce exhale through his nose, he brings the twig right up before Remus’ eyes, and then drops the line and lets it clatter to the roof. 

 

“I know that was you,” says Sirius, referring to the blunt they’d lifted together. “And I know you know it was me, too.”

 

Sirius had not forgotten—how could he have?—but other matters had temporarily taken precedence. But now, alone on this roof in the biting nighttime air, he finally acknowledges what they both had been avoiding talking about. 

 

To his credit, Remus doesn’t deny it. He glances down at the fallen twig with mild disinterest, before turning back to Sirius with a shrug. “What do you want me to say?” he asks.

 

“Show me,” Sirius says. “You do it.” 

 

Remus seems annoyed, but with an ease Sirius has never been able to manage, the twig immediately flies straight into the air, high above them. Sirius glances up at it, and then back at Remus, whose expression hasn’t changed a smidge, his gaze cast out over the grounds, as though the twig he just made fly was about as impressive as being able to curl his tongue. 

 

The twig glides back to the ground, much more elegantly than Sirius would have been able to do, and Remus holds his arms out to his sides, saying, “There, I did it. Secret discovered, good job.”

 

Sirius can’t understand his ambivalence. 

 

“Don’t you find it strange?” asks Sirius, almost angry. “That we both can do...do  _ magic _ ? One hell of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Remus says, sounding almost inexplicably sad. 

 

“Why not?”

 

Remus makes a noise between a laugh and a scoff, and he makes a wide, sweeping gesture, as though encompassing everything around them. “How can you be able to do what I can do and not realize how coincidences are nothing but an explanation people use to deny the things we know to be true?”

 

“What?” asks Sirius, rubbing his temples, too tired, mentally and physically, to process whatever it is Remus is trying to explain. Remus just shakes his head.

 

“If you don’t get it, then I don’t understand how you can do magic at all,” he mutters down at his shoes. He looks back up. “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he says, in normal tone. “I think maybe Lily was right.”

 

Sirius’ stomach does a funny lurch.

 

“Right about what?” he asks.

 

“About us spending so much time together.”

 

“You aren’t going to be expelled, Remus—” Sirius starts, but Remus cuts him off.

 

“No, I know, but you might, and that’s my fault. And I’ve gotten so careless just because I’ve enjoyed having friends...having you. But Lily’s right, and you’re right, I do have too much to lose. I don’t blame you for anything, but I also can’t jeopardize myself just because I feel...just because.” 

 

“What, then?” asks Sirius, a bit hysterical. “That’s just it? We’re not friends anymore?”

 

“We’ll still be cordial. Like I said, I don’t blame you, and we obviously can’t avoid each other, but we just can’t, I don’t know, spend time alone together.”

 

“What about James and Peter?”

 

“I doubt James and Peter will be much inclined to spend time with me once they realize you and I aren’t spending time together.”

 

“But if they did want to spend time with you, you would?” asks Sirius, hurt.

 

“They don’t...Let’s just say that they don’t affect me the same way as you,” says Remus quietly, and Sirius can’t make rhyme or reason over what that’s supposed to mean, so instead he just gapes at him.

 

Decidedly done with the conversation, Remus turns to leave, but because Sirius is  _ not _ done with the conversation, he reaches out and grabs him roughly by the wrist to make him stay.

 

As though it were reflex, Remus turns so fast, and has Sirius pinned so quickly against the window with his forearm pressed so hard against Sirius’ chest that it’s hard for him to breathe. Sirius goes wide-eyed and slack against Remus’ sudden aggression. 

 

“Don’t ever grab me like that,” Remus says through gritted teeth. “I don’t like it.” 

 

And of course that makes sense. Of course someone coming from a physically abusive home would be sensitive to surprise physical touch like a rough tug around the wrist. Sirius wonders how much worse this night can get.

 

“I didn’t think, I’m sorry,” Sirius says with his squeezed breath, and Remus’ face softens as he comes down from his trigger moment, but he doesn’t step away. Instead, they stand like that for several long beats, their faces centimeters apart. Sirius’ eyes instinctively flick down to Remus’ lips, and up again, and he hopes Remus hasn’t noticed, but the gleam in his eye suggests he has.

 

He’s got freckles on the bridge of his nose, thinks Sirius, and green eyes, the shade just a bit brighter than that of sludgy river water, and for the first time Sirius thinks that these eyes may be  _ familiar _ . 

 

But before he can decide if they truly are or if he’s imagining it, and before he can decide if leaning forward and kissing Remus right now would be met with enthusiasm or a right hook to the kisser, Remus pulls back. Sirius takes a deep breath, and then scoots away from the window, not wanting Remus to feel trapped. Without saying anything, Remus starts to climb back through.

 

“Wait,” says Sirius, and Remus glances up at him, one foot already inside.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

“Do I know you?” 

 

“What?” asks Remus again, sounding irritated. 

 

“I mean, obviously I know you, but…” Sirius struggles to find the words to explain. “I didn’t learn magic by myself,” he says. “When I was little, really little, I met a boy who taught me how. I never got his name, and I never saw him again, but he had eyes like yours and I just...was he you, Remus?” 

 

Remus blinks at Sirius, regarding him with an unreadable expression.

 

“I’m sorry, Sirius,” he says. “Whoever that boy was, he wasn’t me.” 

 

And Sirius watches blankly as Remus climbs back through the window, down the stairs, and out of sight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea if this is on schedule or not. i think it might actually be. if so, go me, if not, sorry. 
> 
> next week is cogito ergo sum, so two weeks from now should be this one. as always, find out more about posting schedules at severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com under the tag "diz does fic shit." 
> 
> thnx 4 reading


	8. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sirius has a raging metaphorical boner. mcgonagall is a bro. antony has come to bury caesar, not to praise him. it's a new chapter, folks.

Two straight weeks of respecting Remus’ stubborn, misdirected, and frankly,  _ stupid _ boundaries, and Sirius is about ready to go completely and totally bonkers.

 

“I’m about ready to go completely and totally bonkers,” he says to James, lying across his best friend’s bed with an arm draped over his eyes. James, sat at the top of the bed with his back against the frame, doesn’t even look up from the book in his lap as he says,

 

“You gotta do something about that raging boner you have for Remus, mate.”

 

Sirius startles, throwing his arm to his side and pulling himself into a sitting position in a single, swift motion.

 

“Excuse me?” he says. James raises an eyebrow at his book.

 

“You didn’t really think it was a secret, did you?”

 

“I do not have a  _ boner _ for Remus,” Sirius says haughtily. “I was referring to him refusing to say more than three words to me on any given day. It’s driving me mad.”

 

“Yes,” James agrees. “Because you have a raging boner for him.”

 

“James, what the hell?” Sirius feels his cheeks turning what must be a brilliant shade of scarlet, and he would not mind sinking into the floor right about now. James finally looks up at him, and, seeing Sirius’ defensive, mortified face, sighs and sits his book aside.

 

“If it makes you feel better, I’m pretty sure he has a boner for you too,” he says. 

 

Judging by the way Sirius’ stomach suddenly drops into his arse, this does not make him feel better. Still, he can’t help the pathetic, “No he doesn’t...does he?” that tumbles out of his mouth without his permission. 

 

The expression on James’ face says, “You are dumb as a bag of bricks,” but to his credit, what he actually says is, “‘Course he does. Have you really not noticed how whenever you’re in the same room he stares longingly at you as if you were in a romantic period drama about a befallen woman pining after a man she can’t have.”

 

“I’m not sure I like you actually doing your English homework,” says Sirius, deflecting, picking up the abandoned book at James’ side, reading the cover.  _ Jane Eyre _ . He thumbs through it briefly with a scowl before tossing it back down onto the comforter. 

 

“Gotta,” says James with a wide grin. “I have to be on my A game for Lily.” 

 

Sirius rolls his eyes. Ever since the fight at the lake, after they defended her from Snape and took the fall for Remus, Lily has been cordial, bordering on friendly, with James, Sirius, and Peter, and even agreed to help tutor James in English, which Sirius has taken as a sign of the impending End Times, but it’s nice to see James happy. It’s also obnoxious to see James happy. It seems a bit unfair that James is finally spending time with the girl he adores, while Sirius has hardly made eye contact with Remus in two weeks. It’s complicated.

 

“Anyway,” Sirius says pointedly. “I need to find a way to get Remus to see that I’m not some toxic monster so that he’ll finally talk to me again.” He points his finger at James, silencing him before he can even open his mouth, adding, “Because he’s my  _ mate _ , and not because of some metaphorical boner.” 

 

“Uh huh,” says James, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and raising his arms above his head. “Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something. Seems to me that the dude just got spooked in the face of Miss McGoo, and needs some time to get his shit back together. We’ve got a month and a half before hols. Maybe going home for the break will give him the time he needs to come to his senses?”

 

Sirius, who hasn’t told even James what Remus confessed to him about his homelife, doubts that going home will do anything other than remind Remus why putting himself at risk of getting in trouble is a terrible idea, which doesn’t bode well for Sirius. 

 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

 

James claps a hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “Stop moping, it doesn’t suit you,” he says, getting to his feet and seeking out his trainers. “You broke my concentration and I’m never gonna get it back, so I’m gonna put on the audiobook and go run some laps. You should get out of the dorm for a while. Go find Pete or something, I bet he’s in the Great Hall ogling that poor girl he snogged at the party, again.” 

 

“I might,” says Sirius, and James hears the noncommitment in his tone. 

 

“Sirius,” he says sternly, and Sirius sighs.

 

“I’m fine, James,” he says. “Go do your fitness thing, can’t have you accumulating too many calories, can we?” He forces a small grin and a wave of a dismissive hand, and although it’s clear James is skeptical, he nods anyway.

 

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he says, tying his shoes. He grabs his headphones and pockets his mobile. Sirius waits until the click of the door before throwing himself back onto the bed with a groan singing out into the empty room.

 

Call it what you like—a crush, an obsession, or even a raging boner—that’s just semantics, thinks Sirius, and they all boil down to the same thing:

 

He’s got it bad, and he has not a single clue what to do.

 

—-

 

But as it turns out, he doesn’t have to do anything, because McGonagall, of all people, does it for him.

 

It’s Friday morning’s Advanced English class, and as has been the case the past two weeks, Remus is sitting as far in his chair as he can get from Sirius, diligently taking notes and watching McGonagall, so incredibly rapt with attention that it can’t possibly be genuine, refusing to acknowledge the boy sitting beside him. There was even one class period when Lockhart had said he was a direct descendant of William Shakespeare, and Remus didn’t make a single quip under his breath about it; that was when Sirius truly realized the extent of Remus’ sincerity in regards to their friendship.

 

“You will recall,” McGonagall is saying, while Sirius half-listens while doodling sad looking puppies on his notebook paper. “That on our first class session I had you pick a partner.” 

 

Sirius perks up at this, but fights his instinct to look over to Remus.

 

“For your next assignment, I will be assigning each pair a significant passage from  _ Julius Caesar _ for the two of you to analyze, place into a literary  _ and _ historical context, and develop it into a fifteen to twenty minute oral presentation. The last week of classes before break will be dedicated to these presentations, so I expect you to put considerable effort into making sure you are producing quality work. I would like a rough outline of what your presentation is going to look like by Monday, so it’s best for you to get together with your partner this weekend and start going over your passage. I’m going to pass out outline guidelines, as well as passages, which are going to be assigned at random…”

 

Sirius doesn’t hear much else of what she says. He finally hazards a glance at Remus, who is already looking at him. He gives Sirius a tight smile, but looks a bit ill. How lovely, thinks Sirius, the mere thought of working with me makes him turn green. 

 

Still, at least this means Remus will be forced to interact with him. There’s no way he’ll go and request a new partner when he’s already skating thin ice with McGonagall, and besides, Sirius doubts Remus is that petty. 

 

Who would have thought that McGonagall would be such a bro?

 

The rest of the class goes by in a blur, and when they’re dismissed, Sirius watches as Remus hurriedly stuffs his things into his bag, and works up the courage to reach over and place his hand tentatively on Remus’ desk, stilling him. 

 

“Hey,” Sirius says tentatively, as Remus eyes him warily. “We should work out a time to get together this weekend. You know, to do our outline.”

 

Remus nods slowly. “Right, well I’ve plans with Lily Saturday, so if you’re free Sunday…”

 

“Yeah, for sure, Sunday’s perfect,” says Sirius quickly, not even trying to remember if he had anything planned that day. If he did, it can be rescheduled. 

 

“Right,” says Remus.

 

“Right,” echoes Sirius. 

 

They stare at one another awkwardly.

 

“Well,” Remus says finally, putting away the last of his things and zipping up his bag. “Bye.” 

 

He doesn’t wait for Sirius’ reply. He shoulders his bag and is out the door in a flash. Sirius watches after him, a swarm of conflicting emotions washing over him, until McGonagall appears at his side.

 

“Did you have a question, Mr. Black?” she asks.

 

“No, ma’am,” says Sirius, startling in his chair.

 

“Then unless you’ve suddenly enrolled in my first year remedial English course, I suggest you head to your next class.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Sirius mutters, gathering up his own things, and quickly stumbling out of the door Remus left out of moments before.

 

—-

 

“We lucked out in terms of a passage,” Sirius muses, reading over Antony’s monologue from  _ Julius Caesar _ , leaning back in his chair, pretending his body isn’t coursing with adrenaline. “What a classic. ‘Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears! I’ve come to bury Caesar, not to praise him!’” he reads aloud with finesse. Remus, sat across from him, nose buried in a thick Shakespeare anthology, merely grunts in response. Sirius frowns.

 

“So, how do you want to break up the presentation?” he asks. “Shall we start with the analysis of the text?”

 

“That’s fine,” murmurs Remus, using his pointer finger to guide over words Sirius suspects he’s not even reading.

 

“Looks like she wants to know how we’ll be dividing up speaking time. Is there a particular part you want?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” murmurs Remus, and Sirius’ nervousness suddenly turns to anger. Before he can think better of it, he focuses all his attention on the book in front of Remus, pulls on invisible threads, and suddenly the pages on the book flutter until the whole thing snaps shut. Remus pulls back his finger with an, “Ouch!” and looks up at Sirius, startled. 

 

“Stop ignoring me,” Sirius snaps, not able to keep the irritation out of his voice.

 

“I wasn’t,” says Remus, crossing up his arms and sitting back. “I was replying to you, wasn’t I?”

 

“Hardly,” says Sirius. “What happened to being cordial with one another?”

 

“Was I not being cordial?” asks Remus defensively, scowling.

 

“Honestly? No. You were, and are, being a dick.” 

 

Whatever Remus is expecting Sirius to say, it isn’t that. He blinks a few times, before loosening his arms. “I wasn’t trying to be rude,” he says.

 

“Evidently not trying hard enough,” Sirius says, several weeks of culminating frustration boiling to the top inside. “I know you hate me, but I think I’ve been pretty damn respectful of you wanting me to stay away from you, and I don’t much appreciate you punishing me for just trying to get a stupid English project done.” He inhales deeply, surprised at his own outburst. Across the table, Remus appears equally shocked.

 

“I don’t hate you,” he says quietly.

 

“Good job showing it,” Sirius says, and Remus huffs a breath, running his fingers through his loose mop of curls.

 

“Yeah I know,” he mutters, moving his hands down to press his palms against his eyes and then massaging his temples, as though just realizing he’s got one hell of a headache. He drops his arms like weights and has the decency to look apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he says.

 

“S’fine,” mumbles Sirius, anger vanishing in the face of Remus’ vulnerability, and being replaced with an uncertain nervousness. Those five words are the most substantial thing Remus has said to him in weeks, and he feels like he’s approaching a scared kitten—as if one wrong move will scare him off.

 

“It’s not,” Remus says, twisting a loose thread on his jumper between his index finger and thumb. “I  _ have _ been being a dick, you’re right, and I’m sorry.”

 

Sirius isn’t sure what angle he should approach this with, but he eventually settles on going with the truth. “I miss you,” he says, and Remus lets out such a long-suffering sigh that Sirius immediately regrets it, until Remus says, almost inaudibly, 

 

“I miss you, too.” He then throws his hands up in the air, and says, much more forcefully, “Which is absolutely ridiculous, because we hardly know each other, in the scheme of things. Probably I’m just a sad sack who isn’t used to having actual mates instead of just people who I tolerate and who tolerate me, and plus you’re…” He trails off and waves away the thought.

 

“I’m…?” Sirius prompts, but Remus just shakes his head.

 

“Nothing. The point is that I want to follow you around like a dumb puppy because I’m pathetic and attention starved, and it’s made the last few weeks hell.” 

 

“I’m pretty sure that I’ve already established that I’m the one who’s closest to a dumb puppy,” says Sirius, and although it’s not a full one, Remus cracks a small, genuine smile at him for the first time in what feels like a lifetime.

 

“Maybe, but I’ve got plenty of canine qualities, too.”

 

“You get fleas too, huh?” asks Sirius deadpanned, and this earns Sirius an honest-to-god laugh which adds ten years to his life. He grins, and then, tentatively, he asks, “Are you ready to admit that this whole ‘avoiding each other’ thing is bullshit, yet?” 

 

Remus’ smile fades a little, and he throws his head back with a groan, resting his neck on the back of his chair. “That’s the thing though,” he says to the ceiling. “It’s not bullshit. Lily warned me to just keep my head down, get through my studies, and go to university where I can finally do what I want. And she’s right, what’s two more years of shit if it gets me free?”

 

“Well, first of all, Lily is a goddamn hypocrite, because she’s been hanging out with James lately, so I don’t trust anything she says anymore.”

 

“In her defense, it’s not exactly hanging out so much as tutoring sessions,” Remus points out.

 

“Trust me, Remus, that’s still basically a miracle on Earth. But that’s beside the point. What you should be focusing on is the fact that you’ve basically resigned yourself to two years of misery and have convinced yourself it’s all for the best. I get that you’re probably used to things sucking, but that was out of your control. This? This is your own doing.”

 

“Two years is nothing in the scheme of things, Sirius, and I can’t risk getting—”

 

“I know that,” Sirius interrupts. “I know you can’t risk getting into trouble, but that doesn’t mean you have to cut me...cut your friends out of your life. We may be troublemakers, Remus, but we’re not stupid. You don’t have to set the student code of conduct on fire to hang out with us, we can be nice and wholesome, if it means we get to keep you around.”

 

“I don’t want you to do things you hate just for my benefit.”

 

“Why are you and Lily so convinced that literally everything we do is, I don’t know, a felony or something?” says Sirius, honestly baffled.

 

“You have to admit that you all do rather live up to your reputation.”

 

“And James and I are also top of the class, and that has nothing to do with our rich parents, that’s because, contrary to popular belief, we do actually take some things seriously. We just don’t like to admit it.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” says Remus with another sigh. “I just don’t want to feel like you have to protect me.” 

 

“That’s what friends do, Remus, and I don’t know how to get it through that stubborn head of yours that it’s not pity, but because we actually care about you. You’ll recall I’ve got a discretionary hearing in four weeks that I didn’t have to set myself up for, but did anyway, and would do again, even if it meant that you ignored me forever. _ Because you’re my friend. _ ”

 

“Oh fuck,” says Remus, covering his face, and then peeking through his fingers. “They’ve set a date? I’ve been so preoccupied over keeping my distance, that I nearly forgot why I was doing it to begin with.”

 

“Yeah, December 15th, but I’m truly not fussed, Remus, so chill out.” But Remus is shaking his head before Sirius even has the last word out of his mouth.

 

“You’ve got to let me tell McGonagall the truth, Sirius,” he says, removing his hands from his face in favor of picking up his pen and fiddling with it.

 

“What? No, fuck that, of course not,” says Sirius, with a laugh. 

 

“No, I mean it, I can’t have you on the chopping block because I lost my temper.”

 

“Remus,” Sirius says, leaning forward and giving Remus the ‘you’re a bit thick’ expression that usually is given the other way ‘round. “Do you listen to the words that you say when you say them? Remember what you were literally just saying about avoiding getting into trouble?”

 

“This is different, though, this really  _ was _ my doing. And it’s not like I’m actually guilty of pot possession. If I tell them what happened, tell them why, then hopefully I just get some detentions and maybe some academic probation, and that’ll be that, and you’re off the hook.” 

 

“Remus, no, you don’t need that on your record.”

 

“Neither do you.”

 

“My record already takes up an entire drawer in McGonagall’s office, Remus, this won’t make or break me, trust me.”

 

“What if you get caught in the lie? Then we’re both screwed.”

 

“I’m an excellent liar.”

 

“I want to take responsibility for it, Sirius. Let me. Please.”

 

“Remus—”

 

“Let me take responsibility for what I did, and I won’t avoid you anymore. I’ll stop being a dick. I just...I get that you’re trying to help, but it’s stupid.”

 

“You are so stubborn,” Sirius says incredulously. “I’m telling you that I don’t mind.”

 

“And I’m telling you I do.”

 

Sirius shakes his head. “What if you don’t get a slap on the wrist? Then what?”

 

Remus seems to consider this. Then he gives a small grin, takes the hand with his pen in it, and holds it out flat. Sirius watches as Remus closes his eyes, focused like he’s never seen him. The pen floats over to Sirius, and then, to Sirius’ surprise, points down at a piece of notebook paper Sirius has out on the table, and scribbles something out.

 

Then the pen drops hard with a clatter, and Remus leans against the table, breathing hard. “Haven’t done that in a while,” he says through labored breaths. 

 

Sirius looks down at the paper, where, written in wobbly, unruly scrawl, it says, “Everything happens for a reason.” He shakes his head in awe.

 

“You’re so much better at that than I am,” he muses softly, reaching out to touch the writing, as though it may not actually be there.

 

“To be fair, doing something that refined requires obscene amounts of energy, and I’m pretty sure I just gave myself a migraine.” He gives a smile when Sirius looks up from the paper, and adds, “Maybe that’ll help you see that I mean it. And that I’ll be okay. Just...let me tell the truth, and I’ll let you, and James, and even Peter keep me as sheltered as you want.” 

 

Sirius regards him blankly, again remembering the boy in the woods with the flying leaf. It adds up, considering how many years of practice Remus seems to have, and he finds that he wants it to be true, wants Remus to be that memory that he would have grown up thinking was a dream if it weren’t for the own magic he holds in his fingertips. But Remus says he isn’t him, and with how adamant he is about telling the truth? He has no motivation to lie.

 

“Fine,” Sirius says finally, “but know that I don’t like it and I think it’s stupid.”

 

“Noted and ignored,” says Remus resolutely, and Sirius rolls his eyes.

 

“I really did miss you,” he says before he can stop himself, and he dies a little inside, but Remus smiles, crooked, favoring the right side, front two teeth visible.

 

“You don’t have to anymore,” he says. “How ridiculous. We share a dorm for two and a half months, and I can only avoid you for two weeks before I cave and admit that it feels like I’m trying to pull myself away from something I’m tethered to.”

 

“Everything’s connected,” Sirius finds himself saying, and Remus’ grin morphs into something softer.

 

“That it is,” he says. “Even us.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't even know what my update schedule is anymore; time is a lie. but! i have set the chapter count, and we're pretty close to finished, so i think i'm going to focus my efforts into finishing this up in the next few weeks. a finished project? what a goddamned concept. 
> 
> update information at: severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com, under the tag "everything's connected."
> 
> thnx, k bye


	9. Just Because We’re All Energy Doesn’t Mean It’s Not Cold Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> me waxing poetic about the universe for way too long, and also a trial to see if remus gets to stay at hogwarts or not. we're approaching the end, friends, but what will that end be??

“What all can you do?” 

 

Remus startles and turns. “What?” he asks Sirius.

 

The two of them had spent the better part of their evening tearing apart, analyzing, and contextualizing Shakespeare, until Sirius declared that if he had to read over their passage one more time he was going to start speaking in iambic pentameter. Remus said that he’d love to hear that, but conceded that they’d done enough for the night, and now the two of them are sitting on the roof, bundled in their winter things with mugs of hot chocolate, a light flurry of snowflakes falling from the sky. The top of Remus’ knit cap has a fine dusting of white, and his nose is a nice cherry red, and it’s so cute that Sirius wants to jump off the side of the building. 

 

“The magic,” Sirius clarifies. “You’re clearly better at it than I am, but I’ve only ever seen you do the levitating thing. When that, uh, that boy I told you about taught me about all this stuff, he told me that you can basically do anything you want if you try hard enough.”

 

Remus doesn’t answer right away. He takes a sip of his drink, swallows, and lets out a puff of condensated breath. When he does speak, he asks instead, “What all can  _ you _ do?”

 

“Oh,” says Sirius, shrugging, oddly embarrassed, as though Remus would ever really judge him for what kind of magic he can or cannot do. “A few things, I guess.”

 

Remus smiles into his mug, letting the steam of his drink warm his chilled nose. “That’s a bit vague,” he says.

 

“Well, you avoided the question all-together, so…”

 

Remus laughs, and lowers his mug. “Fair, fair. What all can I do, huh? I guess it’s not a simple answer. I’ve never thought about it in those terms. I can just do what I need to do when I need it.” He takes in Sirius’ bemused expression and laughs again. “That’s kind of cryptic, isn’t it?”

 

“Yeah, but it’s okay,” Sirius says, regretting that he even asked in the first place. He finds that he’s as intimidated by Remus’ grasp on magic as he is awed by it. “I think maybe I just don’t understand it as well as you.”

 

“We think about it differently, but that doesn’t mean you don’t understand it,” says Remus gently. 

 

“How do you think about it, then?” 

 

Remus seems to consider this. A gust of cold wind sweeps by and he burrows his face further into his scarf, eyebrows knit together. “It’s all energy,” he says finally.

 

“What is?”

 

“ _ All _ of it,” he says, turning his gaze out across the grounds. “Everything in the world—in the Universe—it’s all energy.  _ We’re _ nothing but energy, and sometimes I can...feel it? I can feel it, almost like a vibration thrumming through my body, and in those moments I can’t see borders anymore. I no longer see objects, I just see pure vitality. And it’s when everything is as one that I can do anything I want.” 

 

Remus pauses, eyes unfocused, mouth a tight line, and Sirius has a sudden memory.  _ Everything in the whole Universe is made out of the same stuff. _ Wasn’t that what the boy in the woods had told him? It’d been so long, years, but Sirius hears it like it were yesterday. 

 

“That probably sounds a bit mad,” says Remus after Sirius doesn’t reply.

 

“Not at all,” Sirius assures him. “I know what you mean, it’s just...I don’t think I’ve ever seen it that clearly.” Remus looks at him expectantly, and Sirius explains further. “I can see the strings, you know? The knots that tie everything together, but that’s all it is. They’re lines that link the pathways, but everything is still its own...I don’t know, entity, I guess?”

 

“Connected but still separate,” says Remus, nodding slightly. 

 

“Can you show me how to see it the way you do?” asks Sirius, feeling silly for asking, but Remus doesn’t give him the ‘you’re a bit thick’ look. Instead he shakes his head uncertainly.

 

“I don’t know how to teach a feeling,” he says. Sirius is about to say that it’s fine, that he shouldn’t have asked, but then he adds, “But I can try.” 

 

He holds his hand out to Sirius, who stares blankly at it. Remus gestures it at him to indicate he wants Sirius to take it, and so Sirius does. Remus threads his fingers through Sirius’, and for a moment, Sirius can think of nothing but the softness of Remus’ skin tangling between his own. He hopes Remus can’t feel the pounding of his pulse.

 

“Close your eyes,” Remus says quietly, and Sirius does as he’s told. Remus begins giving more instruction, his voice soft and wistful like the wind. “I want you to focus on where your hand ends and where mine begins. Find every place we’re touching.”

 

Sirius feels were Remus’ palm is pressed against his own. He feels the pressure of the tips of Remus’ fingers digging into his knuckles. He feels where his own thumb is resting on the joint of Remus’ wrist, and where Remus has a callus on his middle finger. 

 

“Now find the strings,” Remus instructs, and Sirius knows exactly what he means for him to do. He channels his focus into feeling, not just where they’re connected physically, but where they’re connected on a different plane of existence. And there he finds the strings, tangled like their own fingers, knotted and bunched.

 

“Think of the strings like a lattice work,” says Remus in a whisper against Sirius’ ear. “Or like laces, pulling everything together, making a complete picture. It’s not that we’re separate entities, it’s that we’re puzzle pieces.”

 

And Sirius lets the strings pull them together tighter and tighter, until he can no longer delineate between where he starts and where Remus begins. He can no longer feel the pressure of his fingertips, or the palm-to-palm contact; all he feels is what he can only describe as energy—particles of energy coming together and fusing together, like they’ve been waiting an eternity to be joined again.

 

Sirius doesn’t know how much time has passed when Remus very gently pulls his hand away. His eyes flutter open, and he stares at Remus in awe. Remus smiles knowingly at him, even though Sirius hasn’t said a word.

 

“That’s the real secret to doing magic,” Remus says. “It’s not just that everything’s connected; it’s that everything’s connected because it’s all the same thing. Once you know that? There are no limits.” He claps Sirius on the shoulder and goes to stand, nodding towards the window. “Come on,” he says. “All the same or not, I’m freezing my arse off.” 

 

And, having to pretend that Remus hasn’t just shaken his entire foundation, Sirius gets to his feet, watching Remus clamber through the window, and follows close behind.

 

—-

 

The hearing sneaks up on them. Before they know it, it’s the day of, and Sirius is a ball of nerves. He’s never been nervous in regards to getting in trouble, but this time is different, because he’s not the one who’s facing time. Or expulsion. Or detention. Whatever.

 

“I still think this is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” says Lily for the hundredth time. Lily has started hanging out in their dormroom in her spare time, opting to sit on the edge of James’ bed instead of Remus’, and Sirius thinks that this obvious sign of the apocalypse does not bode well for the outcome of this trial.

 

“I second that,” Sirius says, adjusting his tie. He hates ties, and even when they were an obligatory part of his daily attire, he never wore one properly, but today he does. Today, he’s forgone the eyeliner, is wearing men’s trousers, and respectable shoes. He’s even taken out his earrings, and removed his nail polish—none of which he would do if this were just about him.

 

“And as I’ve said _every_ _time_ , I’m doing it anyway, so you might as well accept it,” says Remus, brushing his hair for maybe the first time Sirius can recall. It makes his curls get all puffy and soft, and if he weren’t preoccupied, Sirius would be chastising himself for getting butterfly stomached over it.

 

“Are you completely sure, though, mate?” asks James, and Remus gives him a completely deadpanned look.

 

“Et tu, Brute?” he asks him. At James’ confusion, he waves his hand and says, “Yes, I’m sure, let it be.”

 

“Let’s go over the plan one more time,” says Peter anxiously.

 

“We’ve gone over it a thousand times, Pete,” says James, trying and failing to get his own hair to look under control.

 

“I just want to make sure I’ve got it all down.”

 

James sighs, but Remus, taking pity, says, “They’ll ask Sirius to give his testimony of events, and he’ll tell them the truth—”

 

“Which I am completely against, by the way!”

 

“—And then I’ll back up his claim, and then Lily and James will back up my actions.”

 

“And what do I do again?” asks Peter.

 

“Nothing, Peter,” says Sirius with a long-suffering sigh. “You weren’t even there until the fight started. If McGonagall or Dumbledore or someone asks you to give testimony then you’ll just say you were only there for part of it, but that you can vouch for Remus’ strength of character.”

 

“Strength of character, got it,” says Peter, fumbling with his own tie. Remus sits down his hair brush and goes over to help him.

 

“We should go,” says James, checking his phone. 

 

“Ugh,” says Lily.

 

“Last chance to change your mind, Remus,” says Sirius.

 

Remus drops his hands from Peter’s now meticulous tie, and shakes his head resolutely. “Let’s go,” he says, and the others have no choice but to relent.

 

—-

 

The hearing takes place in the auditorium, and the tribunal is made up of McGonagall, the headmaster, Dumbledore, and a few of the other head teachers, Flitwick, Sprout, Binns, and Trewlaney. The lot of them are sat on the stage, and in the seats below, Snape is already present. The five of them walk down to the front, and take seats as far away from him as they can. Sirius wants nothing more than to exchange nasty words with him, but he behaves himself. For Remus.

 

“Shall we begin?” asks Dumbledore, serious but a considerable amount less intimidating than McGonagall, who is looking particularly sour. At everyone’s awkward bobbing of heads, he gestures at the podium set up in front of their chairs.

 

“Mr. Black, if you would please step up to address us.”

 

Sirius glances at Remus, mouthing, one last time, “Are you sure?” Remus rolls his eyes, and mouths back, “Go!” 

 

And so he does, using every ounce of his uptight upbringing to present himself as prim, proper, and professional, as he gets up to the podium and adjusts the microphone to be level with his mouth.

 

“Mr. Black, you’ve been accused of being in possession of an illicit substance on school grounds, which is a very serious offense,” says Dumbledore, and Sirius is so proud of himself for letting the ‘serious’ joke slide. “Now, this is not an official court of law, by any means, but I would like to ask how it is you plead.”

 

Sirius sucks in a deep intake of breath, resists the urge to glance back at Remus, and mutters into the microphone, “Not guilty, sir.”

 

There’s a moment of silence from the gathering of teachers on the stage. McGonagall’s eyes have narrowed to slits. Dumbledore folds his hands in front of himself and says, “Mr. Black, I believe that you told Ms. McGonagall here that the marijuana cigarette found in your dorm room was yours. Is that correct, Minerva?” he asks, glancing at McGonagall. She gives one very stiff nod, and Dumbledore turns back around. “Well, in that case, would you care to explain why your story has now changed?”

 

“I was, er…” He closes his eyes and prays for strength. Lying he’s aces at, it’s the truth that he can’t handle. “I was trying to cover for Remus Lupin, sir.” 

 

From behind him he can hear the distinct sound of Snape chuckling, and he doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer if he has to keep up this level of professionalism. Maybe if he throws down with Snape they’ll forget all about Remus? he wonders. 

 

“But!” he says quickly into the microphone. “There is a lot more to the story, and Remus has asked to explain it all himself. Sir, would you be willing to hear him out?”

 

On the stage, the teachers, except for McGonagall and Dumbledore, are murmuring amongst themselves. After a moment of visible deliberation, Dumbledore finally nods. “Very well,” he says. “Mr. Lupin?”

 

Sirius goes back towards his seat, and meets Remus halfway. Remus gives him a half smile, and Sirius can’t bring himself to meet it. He collapses on his chair, and waits, arms crossed, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip.

 

Remus stands at the podium, back to Sirius, tugging at the sleeve of his button-up, waiting. “Go ahead, Mr. Lupin,” says Dumbledore, and Sirius sees the heaving of Remus’ shoulders.

 

“First, I’d like to clarify that the marijuana was in my possession, but it was not mine. Ma’am,” he says, facing McGonagall. “When you took us into your office, you mentioned a, erm,  _ incident _ that led to a fight by the lake. I’m assuming that’s why Severus is here, and I’m sure he’s planning on telling you without hesitation that I was the one who initiated it, and I will tell you now that he would be correct. I did.”

 

McGonagall purses her lips, but doesn’t say anything, and Remus doesn’t give her the chance to anyway, because he’s already continuing. “The thing of it is, though, is that I...I don’t regret it. I may regret the way I went about it, but I assure you that I don’t believe he deserved any less.”

 

“Isn’t this supposed to be about possession, not about a fight?” asks Binns in his dull, monotone voice, but Dumbledore holds up a hand.

 

“I’m sure that’s what this is leading up to, Cuthbert, let’s allow him to continue. Please, Mr. Lupin, what happened on the beach between you and Mr. Snape that made you believe violence was necessary?”

 

“He was harassing Lily Evans, sir,” says Remus steadfastly. “He kept asking her to dance with him, even though she had said no, quite politely, several times. And when she continued to refuse, Severus got angry with her, grabbed her by the wrist, and called her, a, uh, a cunt, sir. It was then that I lost my temper, and hit him.

 

“That was all I did, however. The resulting fight started because of that incident, but it was the only punch I threw. I am still fairly new to the school, and I believe I underestimated the feud that exists between the Gryffindor and Slytherin houses. It became evident, quite quickly, that my actions were taken as, well, almost as an act of war. At least that’s what you’d think, given the way some people reacted.

 

“As the fight gathered, Lily insisted that I leave. Just as I am protective over her, she is, perhaps even moreso, protective over me. She knows that my position in this school is precarious, and she knows that the home I come from is not ideal, and she feared I would face the loss of my scholarship. She instructed Sirius to take me back to our dorm.

 

“But as we were running away, I collided with a Slytherin boy, I believe it was Barty Crouch Jr. I thought it was an accident. He threatened us, but we wrote it off, and hurried back towards our dorm. It wasn’t until we got back did we realize that he had actually collided with me on purpose, in order to slip a marijuana cigarette in my pocket. What happened on his side after that remains uncertain, but I’m sure Ms. McGonagall can attest that he, or another Slytherin boy, came and accused me. Sirius lied for me, because like Lily, he knew that me explaining the story would mean admitting my involvement in the fight, and he was worried about me getting in trouble and facing expulsion. The only thing Sirius Black is guilty of is trying to protect me. The only thing he’s guilty of is loyalty.”

 

“I see,” says Dumbledore, after it’s clear Remus has nothing more to say. “That sheds a lot of light on some of the more clouded parts of this situation, Mr. Lupin, I appreciate it. I would like, however, to ask Lily Evans a few questions, if that would be agreeable.”

 

“Oh,” says Remus. “Sure. I mean, yes, sir.” He backs away from the podium, and as he walks past Lily, she pulls him into a hug that lasts so long that Dumbledore has to clear his throat. 

 

“Love you,” Sirius hears Lily whisper. Remus just smiles, runs a thumb down Lily’s cheek, and takes a seat, and even James doesn’t have it in him to be jealous.

 

“Ms. Evans,” says Dumbledore. “Can you backup Mr. Lupin’s version of events?”

 

“Headmaster, I need you to understand something important,” says Lily in a rush. “I know violence is prohibited, but Remus and I share a history that I believe is vital for you to know.” She turns to meet Remus’ eyes, as though asking permission, and Remus nods at her. She spins back around. “When we were young, we shared a foster home. A terrible foster home, and we were severely abused, sir, and Remus always,  _ always _ , would take the brunt of it to protect me. When Severus grabbed me and insulted me, I can only assume that it triggered the nastiest of memories for Remus, and he just couldn’t ignore them. I know it did for me.

 

“Remus is the best student in this school, and he never puts a toe out of line. And if his only crime is protecting me, then I beg you to look at the whole picture. And I also beg you to think of what you’d be sending him back to if you revoked his scholarship.  _ Please _ .”

 

“He has strength of character!” Peter shouts from his seat, and both James and Sirius hit him. 

 

Momentarily distracted, Lily shakes her head, and opens her mouth to continue, but Dumbledore raises a hand to silence her.

 

“I think I’ve heard enough, Ms. Evans,” he says gently. He’s got a soft smile on his face. “I do not believe that anyone on this stage intends on expelling Mr. Lupin, nor revoking his scholarship. And if they do, then I daresay I would have to overrule it.”

 

“You’re not...oh,” says Lily, faltering, seemingly prepared to fight the good fight in Remus’ name.

 

“No, Ms. Evans, we’re not. There is clearly more to this story than what immediately met the eye, and I do not believe anything here is cause for drastic measures. I believe Ms. McGonagall will have to arrange a punishment for Mr. Lupin, as he did break another student’s nose, which we can’t dismiss entirely, but as for the illicit substance? I don’t believe Mr. Lupin is guilty of that. Perhaps a detention or two for Mr. Black for lying when the truth would have likely saved us all some time, but Mr. Black’s record suggests that a punishment or two will not be of too great a consequence. What do you all think?” he asks, turning to the tribunal. A series of head shakes greets his question. “Excellent,” says Dumbledore, facing Lily again, and clapping his hands together. “Well, then I believe that this is now a matter of your head of house.”

 

“Excuse me, headmaster,” comes Snape’s voice. Everyone turns to look at him, and he looks downright indignant. “I never got a chance to testify.”

 

Dumbledore blinks. “Well, Mr. Snape, if you would like to follow Ms. Evans’ testimony of having been reminded of childhood abuse by your actions, feel free, although I would like to remind you that at this time you are facing no disciplinary action, and perhaps suggest that, pardon me but, digging yourself into a hole may not be in your best interest.”

 

Snape looks to Lily, who is glowering at him. He swallows, sucks in his cheeks, and sits back in his chair, clearly forfeiting his right to testimony. 

 

“Right then,” says Dumbledore cheerfully. “Dismissed!”

 

Sirius lets it soak in for a moment, marvels at the dismay on Snape’s face, watches the teachers get up from their seats on the stage, and finally turns to Remus, and gathers him into a crushing hug, with a loud whoop. WIthout thinking about it, he plants a wet, loud kiss on his cheek (perhaps a little too close to his mouth), and tries not to notice the way Remus goes scarlet.

 

“Thank Christ,” says Lily, sinking right down on the floor by the podium and letting out a breath you’d have thought she’d been holding for weeks. James goes over and plops down next to her, grinning. 

 

“We may be good at getting into to trouble,” he tells her, “but we’re just as good at getting out of it.” To the surprise of everyone, Lily laughs, and shoves James playfully. That seems to be more than Snape can handle, as he scoffs audibly, before jumping to his feet and storming out of the auditorium. They all laugh as they watch him leave.

 

Sirius turns his attention back to Remus, who he’s still got in an embrace, as neither of them has bothered to move away. Now is not the time to overthink that, says Sirius to himself, as he overthinks it.

 

“I’ll be damned, Remus!” he says happily, shutting up his own internal monologue. “Telling the truth actually worked. Who would have thought?”

 

Remus rolls his eyes, but his smile is one of relief. He leans his head on Sirius’ shoulder for just a moment, and says, in a whisper only Sirius can hear, “Thank you.” 

 

Sirius’ heart leaps into his throat. He swallows it back down, and whispers right back, “Anytime, Remus, anytime.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said i was going to upload the last three chapters at once, but it was taking too long, so i decided to post this one, and give you the last two together instead. so here you go! new chapter! we're finally almost done. let's not think about how long it's taken me, and instead, focus on, idk, literally anything else! 
> 
> catch the latest and greatest in regards to this story & others @ severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com/tagged/diz+does+fic+shit
> 
> deuces


	10. Emotional Boners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the stabbing of caesar is a metaphor for sexual gratification, emotional boners, christmas gifts, and revelations. we're at a climax! (a literary climax, get your head out of the gutter, sheesh)

“Thank you for that, erm, theatrical presentation, boys,” says McGonagall, her voice stern, but the hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth.

 

Sirius and Remus take their seats, Sirius nursing sore, bruised knees after he had thrown himself dramatically to the ground, pretending to weep, whilst reciting Antony’s funeral soliloquy. Honestly, Sirius wasn’t sure what anyone was expecting—you can’t just hand Sirius Black a play, ask him to recite it, and not expect him to put every ounce of his natural dramatic flair into it. Duh.

 

“I think I tore my leggings,” says Sirius in a whisper, examining a small rip in the fabric.

 

“I have no sympathy for you,” Remus whispers back, still reeling from Sirius throwing himself over a surprised fourth year’s desk as though it were a casket, yelling, “ _ My heart is there in the coffin with Caesar! _ ”

 

“Oh come off it,” whispers Sirius casually. “We’ll get full marks, just wait.” 

 

Remus purses his lips skeptically, turning his attention back to the front of the room, where the next presentation has begun, with Lockhart speaking over his partner loudly, explaining how, being the only person in the class as a direct descendant of Shakespeare, he is the only one qualified to speak on the work, and that everyone so far has gotten the essential details of the play incorrect, and that the stabbing of Caesar was actually a metaphor for sexual gratification. Quite quickly, Remus appears more sure of himself.

 

The end of the presentation, with Lockhart’s partner so red in the face it seems like she may start smoking from the ears, signals the end of class, and, for Sirius and Remus, the end of first term.

 

“Final marks will be posted by the end of the day Friday,” says McGonagall, the class hardly listening as they bag their things in a mad rush to be free of Advanced English for two glorious weeks. 

 

“Sweet, sweet liberty,” says Sirius, lifting his arms high and wide once the two of them make it into the corridor. 

 

“Indeed,” says Remus with a smile. Sirius drops his arms.

 

“Let me guess, you’re actually sad we don’t get to sit and listen to McG ramble on about the proper structure of sonnets.”

 

“Well,” says Remus thoughtfully, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “She  _ is _ an excellent lecturer, but I think it’ll be good to have a break. It’s been quite an eventful term.”

 

“Ha, yeah, just a bit,” Sirius agrees, following Remus out into the blistery grounds where an unpleasant icy snow is spitting from the sky. He tugs his scarf over his face tighter. “So, what are your holiday plans, anyway? Are you going back...you know, home?” 

 

Remus’ eyes flicker to Sirius’.

 

“No,” he says, as though the mere idea sours his stomach. “No, I’m staying on campus for the holidays.”

 

“Oh hey, me too,” says Sirius without hesitation. He had not, in fact, been planning on staying on campus for the holidays. Remus stops in his tracks, an eyebrow raised.

 

“What?” he asks skeptically. “I thought you were driving to Cardiff with James’ family.”

 

Sirius had, in fact, forgotten that he had told Remus that.

 

“Oh, right, well, what I meant was…” He swallows. He does not, in fact, know what he meant other than ‘let’s spend Christmas together.’ “Erm, if you didn’t want to be alone, we could, erm, spend Christmas together? Here, I mean, I would stay here. With you.”

 

Would Remus believe that he injured his knees badly enough that he has to go see the nurse, right now, immediately?

 

“Don’t cancel your plans on my account,” says Remus firmly, eyeing him oddly. “It’s my choice to stay alone. Lily offered to have me come spend break with her and her family, but they’re going on holiday in Paris, and I couldn’t ask them to pay for that. That, and I’m not fond of planes,” he adds, walking once more, seemingly having dismissed Sirius’ proposal. 

 

“You’re afraid of flying?” Sirius asks, remembering to unfreeze his legs and catches up to him.

 

“Dunno, actually. I’ve never been.” 

 

“Then how do you know you’re not fond of them?”

 

“Probably something about having gone this long not being on one has made me hype them up into something they’re not,” says Remus reasonably. “When I was a kid I used to want to fly all over the world, and was sure I’d not be afraid of them, but now? I dunno. I think I may prefer trains.”

 

“If everything’s connected, then what’s the difference between being on the ground or in the sky?” asks Sirius, and Remus laughs.

 

“That’s a good point,” he concedes. “Maybe someday.”

 

“I’ll go on a plane with you. I’ve been on too many to count, I’m a pro.”

 

“I’d like that,” says Remus, kicking at some accumulated slush on the ground with a wet, sloshy sound.

 

“Would you mind terribly if I stayed with you over the holidays?” asks Sirius. “I don’t like the idea of you eating Christmas pudding by the tree all by your lonesome.”

 

“What about James?” asks Remus, frowning.

 

“James won’t care. In fact, he’ll probably be jealous. They’re spending Christmas with his mum’s mum, who is a slightly confused old widower who lives alone in a cold little house outside the city. She always smells sour and can’t bake for shit, but insists on us eating plates upon plates of rock hard cookies. Plus, I’m not overly fond of Wales. Sheep wig me out.”

 

Remus snorts. “Doesn’t exactly sound like a jolly time,” he agrees. “But perhaps more jolly than sitting around deserted school grounds with nothing to do?”

 

This time, Sirius stops walking in order to look Remus dead in the eyes. “Remus,” he says gravely. “She doesn’t even have wifi. Believe me, you’d be doing me a favor more than me doing one for you. Let me spend hols with you? Please?”

 

Remus appears strangely shy for a fleeting second, but it disappears so fast Sirius isn’t sure he didn’t just imagine it. 

 

“I’m not asking you to, but if you want to stay, feel free,” he says. He resumes his careful gait on the slippery walkway, adding, “It’d be nice to have your company.”

 

_ Your _ company, thinks Sirius, not just company in general. 

 

(Amazing how an influx of oxytocin could make an otherwise reasonable bloke overthink every single word said to him.)

 

For several wonderful seconds, Sirius’ heart flutters at the thought of spending two whole weeks alone with Remus Lupin, until he’s awashed with just exactly it is he’s signed himself up for.

 

Two weeks.

 

_ Alone _ .

 

With Remus Lupin.

 

Sirius swallows hard.

 

Fuck.

 

—-

 

“Grammy’ll be devastated, are you sure you’re not gonna come,” asks James gloomily, doing a sweep of the room to make sure he’s not forgotten anything, and then, when satisfied, he zips up his suitcase. Peter left the night before, taking a late night train back home to Edinburgh. 

 

“Grammy has never once remembered my name,” says Sirius, hanging upside down off the side of his bed. “I’m pretty sure  _ you’re _ the one who’s going to be devastated.”

 

“It’s true, I admit it,” says James with a long-suffering sigh. “What if she makes me eat her toffee again?”

 

“The dentist fixed that cracked tooth right up,” says Sirius, throwing his legs up and over so that he does a sort of somersault onto his feet. He wobbles a little as the blood rush in his head makes the room spin, before walking over to his friend and clapping him on the shoulder. “Plus, if you broke another piece of bone into some overly baked goods, it may earn you some sympathy points with Evans.”

 

“She said she’d email me,” says James brightly. “Did I tell you that?”

 

“About a million times, love,” says Sirius. “Just focus on that. The two of you can exchange photos of sheep herds and Eiffel towers, and after she’s spent two weeks in the city of love with an influx of pathetic scenery pictures from you to get her going, she’ll be ready to positively jump you.”

 

“You think?” asks James eagerly, and Sirius deadpans his face.

 

“Oh yeah,” he says just as flatly, and rolls his eyes at James’ complete disregard of Sirius’ sarcasm.

 

“I probably should go. My train leaves soon,” says James, checking his watch. “Promise me that while Pete and I are gone you’ll finally do something about your big, emotional boner, okay?” 

 

“James—” Sirius starts, annoyed, but James cuts him off.

 

“Please? For me? Consider it repayment for sticking me with Grammy alone.”

 

“What’s it to you if anything happens between me and Remus, anyway?”

 

“I care about you,” says James, pulling on his jacket and gloves, and taking hold of the handle of his suitcase. “That, and if the sexual tension in this room gets any worse, Pete and I are moving out.”

 

“James.”

 

“Do it for me, mate. Take that emotional boner in your hand and cum feelings all over him.”

 

“ _ James _ .”

 

“Or, I don’t care, take your  _ actual _ boner in your hand and cum—”

 

“JAMES,” Sirius bellows. “Train. Leaving soon. Get out. Go to Wales. Bye.”

 

He all but shoves a chortling James out the door. 

 

“Love you, buddy,” says James once he’s on the other side of the threshold.

 

“Uh huh,” says Sirius, holding the door threateningly, daring James to make him slam it in his face.

 

“Have a very happy Christmas,” James says.

 

“You too,” says Sirius tightly. 

 

“A jolly Christmas.”

 

“Yeah, same to you, are you going?”

 

“Have a, dare I say,  _ white _ Christ—”

 

“Bye James,” Sirius yells through the slammed door. He listens to his laughing friend, until it finally trails off, and Sirius’ dubious holiday officially begins. 

 

—-

 

“That is fucking incredible,” says Sirius in awe. 

 

He and Remus are sat on the roof, both soaking wet in their winter things after having had a snowball fight wherein neither of them were allowed to touch the snow. Sirius had gotten markedly better at magic since their talk in this very spot, but Remus was still more experienced, and therefore, had demolished Sirius in their snow fight. He can feel strands of his hair beginning to freeze, but he doesn’t care, because Remus is putting on a magic show for him, and he is transfixed.

 

“This takes a ton of effort and concentration,” says Remus in a strained voice, his eyes closed shut, and his hand stuck straight through the solid stone of the roof. He lifts his hand back out and breathes like he’s just run a marathon. He puts his gloved fingers to his temples and rubs them in silence for a moment.

 

“You okay?” asks Sirius.

 

“Yeah, it just gives me a headache sometimes. Give me a second.”

 

“Wanna try a trick I use for headaches?” asks Sirius. Remus glances up at him suspiciously. 

 

“What’s that?” he asks.

 

“Here,” says Sirius, adjusting himself so he and Remus are face to face. Remus eyes him warily. “Stop looking so worried, it’s nothing bad,” he assures him, but Remus’ expression doesn’t change. “Okay, close your eyes again.”

 

“Okay,” says Remus softly. 

 

“Alright, I want you to picture a big, bright green square.”

 

Remus’ jaw clenches fleetingly, and after a moment’s hesitation, he says, even softer, “Okay.”

 

“Good, now take that square, and turn it into an even bigger, blue circle.”

 

“Okay,” Remus mutters.

 

“Put bright pink polka dots on it.”

 

A ghost of a smile passes over Remus’ mouth. “Okay.”

 

“Turn it into a brown trapezoid,” says Sirius. 

 

“That’s the one that has four sides, right? Like a slanted square?”

 

“Yeah, four sides,” says Sirius.

 

“Okay, got it.”

 

“Great. Now turn it back into the square, but make it smaller.”

 

“Okay, did it.”

 

“Make it even smaller.”

 

Remus hums his assent.

 

“Now make it so small you can barely see it, and when you got it, take a big breath and blow it away.”

 

Remus takes a moment, and then, through puckered lips, lets out a visible breath in the cold air, and blows away an invisible shape. He opens his eyes.

 

“How’s your head?” asks Sirius.

 

“Better,” mutters Remus. He’s a bit redder in the face than the cold air warrants, and Sirius wonders how he could have possibly embarrassed him with such a silly mind game.

 

“Are you sure? You seem a bit…” he trails off. What does he seem? Nervous? Uncomfortable? Sirius isn’t sure, but something about Remus seems off-kilter all of a sudden.

 

“No, I’m fine, that helped, thank you,” says Remus. He gets to his feet. “Hey, do you mind if I go to the library for a bit? I guess you were right, I’m already missing McGonagall’s lectures. I’m going to go get a head start on our Victorian poets’ unit.” He lets out a laugh that Sirius suspects is supposed to sound casual, but comes out a bit hysterical. He frowns.

 

“Yeah, if you want, that’s fine. You sure you’re okay, though? Did I do something wrong?”

 

“What would you’ve done wrong?” asks Remus, and while he sounds genuine, he’s still a bit off. “I’m just getting cold in all these wet clothes, and wanted to get some reading in today. I’ll meet up with you for supper, okay?”

 

“Okay?” Sirius says slowly, but Remus, not waiting for his response, has already disappeared through the window. Sirius stares blankly after him, feeling like it’s not the first time he’s done so. 

 

Confused and frustrated, he focuses his energy on lifting a sloppy ball of snow, and throws it, sans hands, angrily through the open window. 

 

It doesn’t help.

 

—-

 

The shape game notwithstanding, spending the holidays with Remus proves to be a lot less awkward than he had feared. Conversation with him comes easy, and silence between them is comfortable. This, of course, does nothing to stave off his ever hardening emotional boner, as James would call it, but as long as he can keep it in check, Sirius doesn’t see why it has to be a problem.

 

Christmas morning arrives quietly. The two of them sleep in a bit. Sirius wakes up before Remus, gets out of bed, gets cleaned up in the bathroom, and lies about for a while, until growing bored and throws a pillow at the bed next to him.

 

“Hrmph,” says Remus, pulling his blanket over his head.

 

“Get up, wanker, it’s Christmas,” says Sirius. 

 

“Mrphmpff,” answers Remus. 

 

Sirius, being Sirius, decides to take matters into his own hands, and launches himself onto Remus’ bed. 

 

“Wake up, sleepyhead, we’ve got presents!” he says excitedly, hopping up and down, while Remus screams. Sirius collapses to his knees and tugs, with some difficulty, the blanket off Remus’ head. He peers down at him, feeling like his face is very close to Remus’ face all of a sudden, but not being able to move away quickly without being suspicious, so instead he just grins as Remus glares up at him through half-lidded eyes.

 

“Get off me,” Remus grumbles.

 

“Please, we both know you like it,” Sirius says before his mind can catch up to his mouth. Remus raises an eyebrow, and Sirius defuses the situation by screeching, “Anyway let’s open presents!” and hopping off of Remus’ bed, praying that he didn’t notice how red his face must be.

 

“I hope my present is new eardrums,” says Remus, pulling himself up and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 

There is a more-than-modest pile of presents that have been in the room for over a week that they had been on strict orders not to even touch, which has tested Sirius’ resolve almost as much as not jumping Remus when he came back from the showers in only a towel and tousled hair two days prior. (When had his life become a romantic comedy trope, he had wondered, as he fought the urge to dry off the droplets of water on Remus’ back he had missed.) 

 

Sirius sits criss-crossed on the floor and begins sorting the presents into two piles—gifts for himself, and gifts for Remus. (James and Peter had been given permission to take theirs with them, as long as they promised not to open them until Christmas day.) Sirius’ embarrassed that his pile is a bit more substantial than Remus’, but the feeling is outweighed by the flutter of his chest when he picks up a small box that has his name on it, written in Remus’ unruly scrawl. He had, of course, ( _ of course _ ), gotten Remus a present, but he hadn’t necessarily expected Remus to return the gesture. After all, after letting them all know that he was a bit strapped for spending cash, he had told Peter he would edit all his English papers for the rest of second term for him as a gift, and told James he would talk him up extra hard to Lily. Sirius, if he expected anything, had expected a similar, non-tangible gift. 

 

He swallows thickly, and, burning with curiosity, sits the gift down gently on his pile.

 

“You up yet?” Sirius calls from his spot on the floor.

 

“Gonna pee,” mumbles Remus, and when Sirius looks up he sees he’s gotten out of bed with eyes squinting in the light, his hair sticking up in odd angles, his feet in fuzzy slippers, and looking positively like the most non-morning person in the universe in his baggy flannel pajama bottoms and white t-shirt. 

 

It’s so adorable that Sirius wants to beat himself in the face with a hammer.

 

Instead, he says, “Well hurry up, we’ve got a bunch of material goods to tear through.” 

 

“Mm,” Remus replies, stumbling towards the door, his hand running through his hair, messing it up even further. 

 

“I need more enthusiasm, Remus!” Sirius calls after him.

 

“Hip-hip-hooray,” Remus deadpans with a yawn, and Sirius rolls his eyes fondly after him.

 

After what feels like an hour, but what was probably only about ten minutes, Remus returns to the room, and Sirius quickly sits down the small box from Remus he’d been shaking, trying to discern the contents of. He is delighted to see that Remus, though looking slightly more awake, has not bothered to brush his hair.

 

“Presents?” asks Sirius like an excited puppy. 

 

“Yes, yes,” Remus sighs, but he gives a groggy smile. He plops himself beside Sirius on the floor, and leans back against the wall behind him, yawning again. “How’re we doing it? Taking turns?”

 

“Seems good a way as any.”

 

“Mkay, you go first then, I’m still half asleep.”

 

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” says Sirius. 

 

In all honesty, until he met James and Peter, he never had a proper Christmas. Oh sure, he’d had big, elaborate parties, with bushy, beautifully tinselled trees, and lavish three course Christmas dinners, but not one moment of it ever felt genuine. Holidays at the Black mansion were merely ways to demonstrate their extravagant wealth. Sirius would receive gifts, but they were never customized to  _ him _ . Not one present was ever given with the indication that his family knew him at all, or even cared to. The thought is what counts, but that was the whole problem—there  _ was _ no thought. Passed down relics from long-dead family members he knew nothing about, and pompous, expensive clothes accompanied by passive-aggressive comments from his mother about how “maybe now you’ll dress properly for once.” 

 

Sirius would take a bag of his favorite sweets bought with the last five quid from Peter’s pocket money, than a solid gold watch from a racist dead guy he’s supposed to admire just because he had sex with someone in his bloodline, any day. 

 

He reaches immediately to the small box he’d had in his hands moments before, but Remus makes a noise of protest. Sirius pauses and raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“Not that one,” he says. “Save it for last.”

 

“Why?” asks Sirius suspiciously. 

 

Remus gives him the, ‘don’t be thick,’ look. “Because,” he says flatly. 

 

Sirius, practically dying from wanting to know what Remus could have possibly given him that would warrant waiting, pushes down his frustration, and picks up a package wrapped in Hello Kitty wrapping paper, which is clearly from James.

 

“Oh my God, you’re one of those people. Just open the present, Sirius,” says Remus as Sirius carefully undoes each side of the present, and pulls gently along the taped seams, careful not to rip the paper.

 

“Old habits die hard, okay?” says Sirius, embarrassed. 

 

“I always forget that you had a prim and proper upbringing. How tedious.”

 

“Shush.” 

 

Remus clicks his tongue impatiently as Sirius takes his sweet time removing the paper. Then he laughs.

 

“You absolutely have to wear all of those,” Remus says, after Sirius reveals a pack of brightly colored, fruit scented lip glosses.

 

“Duh,” says Sirius grinning. On the back of the lip gloss package, James has taped a note. He pulls it off and unfolds it.

 

“ _ For making snogging a certain someone that much more enjoyable, wink wink wink, _ ” it reads. Sirius immediately goes scarlet.

 

“Jesus, what does it say, you’re red as a beet,” says Remus, leaning forward in an attempt to catch a glance of the note.

 

“Absolutely nothing of importance,” says Sirius, crumpling the letter into a ball and shoving it in his pocket. 

 

“What on Earth—”

 

“Your turn!” says Sirius sharply, picking up a present from Remus’ pile at random and thrusting it at him.

 

Remus stays still a moment, eyeing him with a quirked eyebrow, before apparently deciding to drop the subject, much to Sirius’ relief, and he takes the present from Sirius. 

 

“It’s from Lils,” he says, ripping the paper with reckless abandon, making Sirius cringe. He opens a box and pulls out a nice collection of very warm looking articles of clothing.

 

“She knows you well,” Sirius muses, as Remus beams at a hideous, oversized, brown jumper with a scarf that clashes with it horribly. “Er, what are those supposed to be?” he asks when Remus pulls out a pair of some lopsided, knitted  _ somethings _ . 

 

“They’re either socks or mittens,” says Remus, pondering the objects. “The lack of thumb slots suggests socks.” He looks to Sirius and grins. “Lily’s taken to knitting as a ‘stress reliever,’ or some other rubbish. She’s, er, still learning.”

 

“At least she didn’t try to make you the jumper,” says Sirius wisely. “I imagine you’ll still wear those?”

 

“Oh, religiously,” says Remus, and as proof, he pushes off his slippers and pulls on the probably-socks. What appears to be meant as the heels of the socks go up to his ankles, and they are different sizes, and Remus looks positively gleeful. “Your turn,” he says cheerfully, pulling on his ugly jumper, which, paired with his tremendous bed head, is so cute it’s downright criminal. Sirius bites the inside of his cheek, and picks from his pile.

 

It goes this way for some time. Sirius gets some quality items from the local joke shop that Peter got for him, which will prove very useful for mischief. To his surprise, Regulus, whom he’s not been on the best of terms with since he decided not to ever come back home, sent him a box of baked goods he can tell have been made by his parents’ cook, who happened to specialize in cakes. He has a small collection of small, anonymous gifts from secret admirers around the school, and his Aunt Andromeda sent him a Queen record on vinyl.

 

From James, Remus got a big box so stuffed with chocolates he would be set until summer holidays, assuming Remus was smart about eating them—although, since the day he threw back vodka and orange juice like water at that party, Sirius had come to find Remus wasn’t always the poster boy for healthy diabetics—and from Peter, a book on the history of constellations. Marlene and Dorcas, likely acting on the request of Lily, sent him a joint present of a rather nice, leather-bound notebook.

 

“What’s this then?” he asks, when he picks up Sirius’ present to him. It’s an envelope, with ‘to my favorite nerd,’ written in perfect script on the front.

 

“Open it,” Sirius says, feeling foolish for no reason other than it seems anything involving an inkling of intimacy with Remus makes his insides start to act all funny. “If you’re not free I can reschedule it. Or not, if you’d rather not go…”

 

“Let me open it before you fret about me wanting to return it, yeah?” says Remus with a reassuring grin. He opens the envelope and pulls out of it, a pair of tickets. “The Royal Observatory?” he reads aloud, and then looks at Sirius questioningly.

 

“It’s in Greenwich, right along the Prime Meridian,” Sirius starts to explain quickly. “Though, you probably knew that, of course, and maybe you’ve already been—”

 

“I haven’t,” says Remus quietly.

 

“Oh? Well, that’s good, isn’t it? The tickets are for New Year’s Eve. I thought, I dunno, if you wanted to, we could take the train into the city—I’ll pay of course, it’s part of the gift so you can’t complain—and we could spend the afternoon at the Observatory, take some nerd pictures along the Prime Meridian, and see a planetarium show, I’ll get you something dorky from the gift shop, get the whole experience, you know? And then we could maybe find something to do for the night. I mean, it’s London on New Year’s Eve, there’s gotta be something fun we can find to do. Worse comes to worse, we can just sit along the Thames and do a countdown on our own, since I know parties aren’t exactly your thing. I’m not doing any ferry rides, though, fair warning.”

 

“You’re afraid of water?” asks Remus, surprised.

 

“Not exactly. I just have a thing about rivers.” 

 

Remus seems to have a moment of dawning realization that Sirius doesn’t understand, but before he can ask about it, he’s leaning over and pulling Sirius into a hug, and Sirius loses all sense of space and time.

 

“Thank you,” Remus says into Sirius’ ear so sincerely that he blushes. Remus pulls away, the features of his face softer than Sirius has ever seen them. “This is one of the most thoughtful gifts anyone has ever given me. And everyone else’s gifts? It’s like they you all have taken the time to really get to know me, and I’m just...Not to sound bleak, but I guess I’m just not used to people caring enough about me to do that.”

 

For once, Sirius doesn’t feel silly or completely transparent. “Trust me,” he says gently. “I understand the feeling.”

 

Remus regards him for a long moment, before giving him a small smile and nodding. 

 

“Sooo…” says Sirius after a few beats of silence. He picks up the last present on the floor, and holds it up, tilting his head in question. Remus sighs.

 

“Yes, okay, alright, you can open it,” he says. “But!” he says, putting his hand up to still Sirius’ already moving hand along the folds of the paper. “Two conditions.”

 

“Yes?” says Sirius, finger still positioned right under the tape holding down the flap of paper folded over on the side of the box.

 

“One, you have to open it properly.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“Meaning you aren’t allowed to take ten years to iron out every wrinkle in the wrapping paper. You’ve got to tear it open like a madman, or I’m taking it back and you’ll never know what’s inside it.” Sirius scowls at him. “Two,” he says before Sirius can protest. “You’ve got to make me a promise before you open it.”

 

“Okay,” says Sirius, frowning. “What promise?”

 

“You’ve got to promise me that you won’t get mad until I’ve gotten a chance to explain.”

 

Sirius’ eyes narrow. “What’d you get me that would make me angry?” he asks suspiciously.

 

“Just...promise me.”

 

Sirius hesitates, taking in the worried expression on Remus’ face, before nodding slowly.

 

“I promise,” he says.

 

“Okay, good,” says Remus, sounding tense. He nods to the gift in Sirius’ hands. “Go on, then.”

 

Sirius regards the gift for a moment, the prim and proper gentleman ingrained in his psyche yelling at him that he is  _ not _ allowed to rip that wrapping paper like a commoner. He decides, like the cheeky bastard he is, on a compromise. He lifts his hand above the paper, closes his eyes for a moment, focuses his energy, and then tears the paper from the box with a nice, satisfying yank from invisible strings. 

 

Remus snorts. “Cheat,” he mutters, and Sirius grins at him.

 

Beneath the paper, there’s a small, nondescript box. He shimmies the lid off of it, and finds a folded piece of glossy paper. His eyes flicker to Remus, eyebrow raised, and Remus makes a gesture with his hand as if to say, ‘get on with it.’

 

Sirius reaches into the box and pulls out the paper. It’s folded what seems like a million times, and it takes him several seconds to unfold it completely. It’s larger than he expected, and he smoothes it out across his lap and examines it.

 

It’s a map. 

 

He examines it further, and realizes it’s not just a map at all. It’s a map of Japan, blown up so all the cities, landmasses, and bodies of water are clearly marked. Near the bottom of the map, the marker indicating Okinawa has been circled, with Remus’ untidy scrawl beside it. Sirius, frowning, holds the map up closer, and reads:

 

“ _ The earliest trace of the origins of karate have been traced to Okinawa, Japan. _ ”

 

It takes Sirius a long moment to process what this message is supposed to mean, but when the understanding hits, it hits hard.

 

His whole body goes cold as ice, as though he were once again being dragged down in the rushing river. He  _ knew _ , Sirius thinks, he  _ lied _ .

 

He finally pulls his eyes from the map to find Remus staring at him, looking, frankly, terrified. 

 

“You lied to me,” Sirius says when he remembers how to speak.

 

“I did,” Remus admits, his voice unsteady.

 

“You knew.”

 

“I did.”

 

“How long did you know?” 

 

Remus winces, and, averting his gaze down to his hands clasped tightly in his lap, he says, almost inaudibly, “Since McGonagall told me whom I’d be rooming with.” Sirius gapes at him. Remus hazards a glance up, and at Sirius’ expression, he adds quickly, “You promised not to get mad until I had a chance to explain.”

 

Sirius isn’t sure if what he’s feeling is anger, exactly. If it is angry, it’s only secondary. What he’s really feeling, he thinks, is that his feelings are hurt. Yes, that’s it exactly. Remus has hurt his feelings. How could have he known all this time, and not let him in the loop. How could he continue to do it even when Sirius asked him, point blank, to his face?

 

“Start explaining,” he says, and Remus looks devastated at the hurt in Sirius’ voice.

 

“I’ll have to start from the beginning,” he says apologetically. Sirius says nothing, and Remus nods. “Okay then. It started when McGonagall came and told me who I was rooming with. I actually made her repeat your name. She said, ‘Yes, he’s from the famed Black family, but trust me, you’ll find he lives up to a quite different reputation.’” Remus smiles slightly at the memory, but it drops off his face when he sees Sirius isn’t amused. “I think she must have thought I was surprised because I’d heard of your family, but in all honesty I don’t know much about your family besides that they own half of England, and what you’ve told me about them...And I don’t just mean what you’ve told me about them this year.”

 

Sirius recalls telling the boy in the woods about getting lock in his room without supper, and being rapped on the knuckles with rulers, and feels a little sick.

 

“But what really was happening was that I was standing there shitting bricks, because if you were whom I thought you were—and I was pretty damn sure you were, because how many Sirius Blacks are there in the world, really—then I was just... _ beyond _ screwed.”

 

“Why would you be screwed?” asks Sirius in spite of himself, and Remus takes a deep breath, and lets it hiss out his lips in a long stream.

 

“Because I had pretty much never stopped thinking about you since the day in the forest.” He swallows audibly, and continues, although it appears to take a lot of effort. “I’d snuck out of the house that day, because Mr. Greyback…” he pauses. “Er, that’s my foster dad, if you don’t—”

 

“I remember,” Sirius says shortly.

 

“Right. Well, he’d been extra awful that week, and I just wanted a single afternoon away, even if it meant I’d get a beating like none other when I got back.” Sirius cringes a little at the thought. “I found myself in the forest by accident, and I just happen to stumble on your dumb arse about to die in the river—” Sirius does manage the tiniest of smiles at this. “—and I was able to help you. And that alone was incredible. I never got to help people. I always just felt completely useless, but I had effectively just saved your life.”

 

“Okay, I wasn’t that helpless,” mutters Sirius, and Remus gives him the, ‘you’re thick,’ look, but doesn’t comment on it.

 

“But then, even more incredibly, you seemed to  _ like _ me. No one liked me, Sirius. It was still a few months before Lily came to the home, and I hadn’t seen my mum in ages, and on top of regular beatings, I was always made fun of at school, Sirius, I had  _ nobody _ . But for a half hour in that forest, I had a friend. I had  _ you _ .

 

“But then I never saw you again. After the punishment I got when I got home, I didn’t dare go back to the forest, and there was no way a rich kid from the north side of the river was ever going to be caught dead in the garbage primary schools I was stuck in. 

 

“It was okay, you know, I learned how not to get in as much trouble, and I had the magic when I got beat anyway. I had Lily. I had a handful of people who tolerated me, or at least let me get pissed with them when I needed a bit of a mental reprieve, but part of me always wondered about you. Stupid, Universal energy believer that I am, I couldn’t bring myself to think you were a coincidence. You were like this, huge mystery that I felt I’d missed the opportunity to solve, and you never left my mind, not once.

 

“So imagine, then, how absolutely floored I was when I learned, hey, not only is this kid you’ve been thinking about for nearly a decade a student at your new school, he’s also going to be your roommate! Sirius, I was  _ terrified _ . What if I had spent so long building you up into something you weren’t, and you crushed all my expectations? Or what if you really were a pompous arsehole who would look at me the same way half the people at the school do, like I don’t belong? Or, even worse, what if you were every bit as fantastic as I had believed you to be, and decided you didn’t like me? The first few days here, waiting for you, James, and Pete to arrive basically consisted of me sitting on my bed pretending to read while fighting the urge to vomit.”

 

“You didn’t seem nervous when you introduced yourself,” Sirius countered. “In fact, if anything, you seemed totally disinterested.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve told you, I deal with social anxiety by burying my feelings deep inside and putting on a cold and sarcastic facade. It’s not...er, a very efficient way to make friends, but I don’t have much control over it.”

 

“Why didn’t you just tell me then?”

 

“I never told you my name,” Remus says. “Back then, I mean. I realized that when I got home from the woods. I heard that woman calling your name, but I never told you mine, so you wouldn’t have recognized it from the dorm assignment roster, and, honestly, with how important it was to me, I couldn’t handle the idea that you may have forgotten the interaction entirely. Even when we started to become friends, I couldn’t deal with you saying, ‘Sorry Remus, I just don’t remember that.’”

 

“Okay, but what about on the roof that night? After you found out I could do magic too? I asked you to your face if you were the kid from the woods, and you told me no.”

 

“Yeah, and it took everything I had to lie like that. The fact that you not only remembered me, but had learned how to do magic? It was more than I could have hoped for. But put it in my perspective—I had just decided that we couldn’t be friends anymore, and even if it was misguided, telling you right then meant it would be that much harder to cut you out of my life.”

 

“And after? When we started speaking again?”

 

“Then? Then it was just cowardice. I had about a million opportunities to tell you, but by then I had run with the lie so long that I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, because what if you got so angry that you decided we couldn’t be friends anymore? We had already tried that, and I was so depressed the entire time, and that was my doing. If  _ you _ had decided you wanted nothing to do with me? Let’s just say it would have taken more than a box of chocolates and sappy movies to bounce back from it.”

 

“You make it sound like it would have been like a breakup,” says Sirius, mind reeling from the everything happening right then.

 

“Yeah, well…” Remus trails off, and blooms red in the cheeks.

 

“Yeah, well, what?” Sirius asks.

 

“Nothing,” says Remus, picking at the loose stitches of his lopsided socks. 

 

“I thought this was a moment of honesty,” says Sirius. Remus grits his teeth. Sirius reaches over and, putting a finger under his chin, lifts Remus’ head up so he’ll look at him. “I’m not angry,” he tells him. “I just wish I’d have known sooner.”

 

“Do you really want the honest-to-god truth?” Remus asks. Sirius’ finger is still under his chin, and Remus is making no moves to pull away.

 

“That’d be nice,” says Sirius.

 

“Okay,” says Remus, and Sirius can feel him trembling a little. “Then honestly? I’ve probably been a little bit in love with you since I was seven years old.” 

 

Sirius’ heart doesn’t give his brain a chance to make a say. With his mind totally blank, he moves forward as if involuntarily, and kisses Remus. Remus responds immediately, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ neck. 

 

If kissing Remus in the middle of the day in front of James and Peter as a demonstration of technique had sent Sirius into a tailspin, then kissing Remus with purpose and months of sexual and romantic tension culminating into a single moment was going to probably alter him for life. Remus is just as good a kisser than he remembers, and even more so, because now he’s kissing like he means it. 

 

Without knowing how it happens, they find themselves horizontal on the floor, snogging like the world is ending on top of Remus’ haphazardly torn wrapping paper remnants, and Sirius’ meticulously folded ones. Remus is on top of Sirius, one hand in his hair, and one on his chest, and Sirius is holding him at the small of his back, Remus’ jumper and t-shirt pushed up so they’re skin-to-skin.

 

Finally, Remus pulls away to breathe, and Sirius is flattered at the total awe directed at him. He moves a hand to cup Remus’ cheek, and he leans into the touch. 

 

“So you’re not mad?” asks Remus with his eyes closed. Sirius barks out a laugh.

 

“Nah, I think you’re forgiven.” 

 

Remus opens his eyes and smiles at him. “I  _ am _ sorry,” he says genuinely.

 

“Don’t be,” says Sirius, meaning it just as much. 

 

“I am, though.”

 

“You’re too bloody good a kisser for me to stay mad at you,” Sirius says, and he snatches Remus’ mouth again, and it’s better than any sweet he’s ever eaten. 

 

They snog for a few minutes, until Sirius feels Remus’ hand sneak into his pajama bottoms pocket. At first he thinks he’s making some strange sort of move on him, until Remus suddenly rolls off of him, and lays on his back, uncrumpling the note from James. 

 

“No no no,” says Sirius, trying to snatch it away, but Remus blocks him with lopsidedly socked feet, holding the note in front of his face and reading it over.

 

And then Remus is laughing. Like, really laughing, full on chortling, before curling into a ball on the floor shaking silently. 

 

“Oh come off it, it’s not  _ that _ funny,” says Sirius, grabbing the abandoned letter and ripping it into shreds.

 

“No, you don’t get it,” says Remus, between giggles. “Lily’s been doing the same damn thing to me.”

 

“You’re fucking with me,” says Sirius.

 

Remus shakes his head, pulling himself into a sitting position, trying to catch his breath.

 

“For ages now,” he says. “She’s been calling it my ‘emotional boner.’”

 

“Emotional…” Sirius’ eyes narrow. “Those bastards,” he says.

 

“What?” asks Remus, wiping tears from his eyes.

 

“They’ve been plotting together. Before he left, James told me to take my emotional boner in my hand and cum my feelings all over you.”

 

“PFFFFFT,” says Remus, hurtling right back into a fit of laughter. Sirius can’t help but join in. 

 

“We’ll have to get them back somehow,” says Remus once they’ve calmed down. They’re sitting against Sirius’ bed, shoulder to shoulder, at ease in their closeness. “Lily totally fancies James, you know. She told me when she got pissed with Marlene and Dorcas a couple weeks ago.” 

 

“It truly is the end times,” says Sirius with a low whistle. “Yes, revenge is necessary I believe.”

 

“Later though,” says Remus, putting a hand on Sirius’ cheek and turning him towards him. Sirius grins.

 

“Later,” he agrees. He presses his lips to Remus’, his smile never faltering. 


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey look, it's the end!

Epilogue

1 ½ Years Later

 

“This was a mistake,” says Remus, gripping the ends of his armrests. 

 

“We have literally not moved yet,” says Sirius, placing a hand over Remus’ and squeezing it. “You told me in the woods that you weren’t afraid of heights.”

 

“Point one, I’m  _ not _ afraid of heights, I’m afraid of being in a large contraption that goes thousands of kilometers in the air and is dependent on a lack of human error. Point two, I was  _ seven _ .” He opens his eyes, which had previously been squeezed so tight Sirius thought he may hurt himself, and looks warily below them where men and women wearing bright orange are doing final checks on the plane. “Why did you insist on giving me the window seat? Sadism?”

 

“Altruism,” Sirius assures him. “Once you realize this isn’t scary, you’ll want the window seat, I promise.”

 

“Right,” says Remus doubtfully.

 

The trip had been Sirius’ idea. They were doing a road trip with James and Peter at the end of July, before Uni starts, as a kind of a last hoorah, but Sirius wanted something special with Remus. 

 

“Tokyo?” Remus had said, staring down at the plane tickets Sirius had gotten him for his 18th birthday. “You’ve lost your mind, this is too much.”

 

“What do you mean, it’s perfect.”

 

“You know I’ve got no pocket money, I can’t afford this.”

 

“You’re not spending money on it, fool, it’s a gift. Fully financed.”

 

“No, no way,” Remus had said, attempting to shove the tickets back into Sirius’ hands.

 

“Non-refundable, babe, sorry,” Sirius had told him.

 

“You’re insane.”

 

“Hey, this is your own fault. You can’t date someone with a hefty inheritance sitting in their bank account and expect not to get spoiled rotten every now and then. Besides, I want to spend some quality time with you before our lives change forever and I never see you again.”

 

“Mm, you’re referring to uni?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Two problems with that.”

 

“Which are?”

 

“Well, first off, our universities are literally a thirty minute tube ride away from each other.”

 

“Thirty minutes two long.”

 

“Secondly, we’re sharing a flat.”

 

“Please, we both know that once you see that university library, you’re never coming home.”

 

“You’re dramatic.”

 

“You love me anyway.”

 

“You’re presumptuous.”

 

“You’re going to Japan with me this summer.”

 

“...So it would seem.”

 

And so here they were. As the plane taxies, the flight attendants are reciting their safety procedure presentation with a lazy ease, while Remus stares at them as though they are detailing every way he was going to die on this plane.

 

“You ready?” Sirius asks once they’re cleared for takeoff. 

 

“No,” says Remus, shutting his eyes again as the plane starts to head down the runway. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he mutters, clutching onto Sirius’ hand for dear life, once the plane breaks into full speed and begins to lift off the ground.

 

“Hey,” says Sirius softly, turning Remus’ face towards him. Remus opens his eyes reluctantly, looking rather green. “Let’s find the strings.”

 

Too terrified for words, Remus nods. Sirius lifts their joined hands so they’re between both their faces. “You feel yourself connected to me?” Remus swallows, and then nods. “What about to the chair?” Remus inhales deeply, and visibly concentrates.

 

“Yeah,” he mutters.

 

“You feel the thrum of the plane engine?”

 

“Unfortunately.”

 

Sirius smiles. “What’s it made of?” Remus opens one eye in order to scowl at Sirius, but Sirius just looks back expectantly.

 

“Energy,” he grumbles finally.

 

“And us, what are we made of?”

 

“I regret teaching you this,” sighs Remus, leaning his head back against his seat. “Energy,” he says reluctantly.

 

“Look out the window.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Remus.”

 

Remus frowns, and then glances out of the window, where the ground is quickly getting further and further away.

 

“Nope,” he says, turning away and snapping his eyes shut again.

 

“No, no, really look,” Sirius insists. 

 

With tremendous effort, Remus looks out the window again, and stares like it’s a big, hairy, venomous spider inches from his nose.

 

“What is everything out there?” asks Sirius.

 

“Energy,” says Remus trembling.

 

“Focus on it. Find the strings and pull the pieces together.” 

 

Remus bites his lower lip, before taking another deep breath, and stares, unblinkingly for over a full minute, his eyes glazed over. Finally, he turns to Sirius, and nods, a little unsteady, but considerably calmer. Sirius smiles gently, and leans over to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, love,” he tells him, nuzzling his forehead against Remus’. “Air, ground, plane, train, it doesn’t matter.” He pulls Remus over so his head is resting on Sirius’ shoulder. He absent-mindedly strokes his hair. “Everything’s connected,” he says.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearly two years later, this is finally completed. thanks for sticking with me, y'all. hope you enjoyed the ride.
> 
> if you care:  
> -cogito ergo sum is on brief hiatus, but will be completed at some time in the future and is not abandoned
> 
> -i'm going to release another fic in full as a sort of gift to my tumblr followers once i reach a certain milestone
> 
> if you want to be updated on any of these things, please go to:
> 
> severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet.tumblr.com/tagged/diz+does+fic+shit
> 
> thanks again. i don't reply to comments that frequently, but please know i read all of them religiously, and they mean the world to me. until next time!


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